


Succumbing

by nightrose



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BDSM, Kinktober, M/M, See the notes for specifics, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-07-27 05:45:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 30,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16212665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightrose/pseuds/nightrose
Summary: Enjolras and Grantaire fall into kink. They also fall for each other.





	1. day one: face-fucking

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so maybe it's a quarter of the way through the month and I juuuuust decided to do kinktober, but hey. 
> 
> All the chapters will be right around 1k and will follow a rough progression of Enjolras and Grantaire slowly exploring BDSM together in a loving and consensual relaationship.

Intellectually, he had known Enjolras was a virgin. He just hadn’t realized Enjolras was a virgin like _this._ Sweet and overwhelmed and totally out of control. Like, not even knowing what his body can do, and not even trying to fight his instincts. It’s a side of him that Grantaire would never have expected to see. 

Well, he hadn’t expected any of this. He hadn’t expected Enjolras to _ask him out,_ like, all formally and nervously. He hadn’t expected to be taken to dinner, and he definitely hadn’t expected to be taken back home to Enjolras’ afterwards. 

“I’ve never…” Enjolras had told him, shyly, as they progressed from making out to groping on the couch to Grantaire sliding to his knees in front of the couch and gently asking if it was all right. But Enjolras had wanted to, and Grantaire, as always, lives to serve. Not that he would put it quite like that, at least not to Enjolras. He’s trying to keep things vanilla for now, since Enjolras already seems nervous enough with just the basics. Eager, but nervous. 

Luckily for Enjolras, Grantaire is whatever the opposite of a virgin is. Grantaire is, not to put too fine a point on it, a slut.

So he’s more than equipped to handle the fact that Enjolras is currently fucking his face, in a completely unrestrained way that a more experienced lover would never dare to do. Usually, this is the kind of blowjob that takes negotiation and explicit exchange of power and basically _paperwork_ to get, but Enjolras doesn’t know that it’s rude to just grab your lover’s hair and use their face like this, and Grantaire isn’t going to stop him.

Well, honestly, Grantaire is _thrilled._ The blowjob had started out slow and careful, with Grantaire having intentions of carefully introducing Enjolras to the finest pleasures, which he, Grantaire, would be in control of. It was going to be his way of showing Enjolras exactly what he’d been missing out on in the previous twenty-something years of celibacy, with the added advantage of demonstrating exactly how great Grantaire, in particular, could make him feel. 

That had all gone out the window about six seconds after Enjolras actually got his cock into Grantaire’s mouth and started thrusting. His hands tangled in Grantaire’s long, dark hair, holding him still, occasionally pulling just enough to send a twinge of delicious pain straight to Grantaire’s cock. All Grantaire has to do is keep his mouth open and his teeth out of the way and try not to choke and let Enjolras take whatever he wants. Which in this case seems to be _everything,_ every single part of him. Grantaire has plenty of experience, but this kind of natural dominance, this totally innate urge to just take and take and take… that’s rare, and he treasures it. 

Grantaire is experienced enough that he manages to only gag every few thrusts, and Enjolras seems gloriously unaware of any physical struggle in his apparent attempt to meld their bodies together into one. Grantaire sneaks a glance at him through his tear-damp eyelashes and sees his head thrown back, his mouth hanging open, his whole body given over completely to pleasure. It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, but then, Enjolras always is. Now, though, his beauty is not untouchable and quasi-divine. It’s here, in this moment, carnal and real and perfect. 

Grantaire wants to make this happen all the time. He wants Enjolras to fuck his face every day for the rest of his life, as a matter of fact. Every hour on the hour, if that could be arranged. Even if he weren’t enjoying the sensation, the slight choking, the pain, the fullness, everything else, the pleasure he’s giving, the closeness, the hyper-present _realness_ of Enjolras there, inside him, would be enough to make this bliss for him.

It doesn’t go on nearly long enough, although he’s dizzy and teary by the time Enjolras comes in his mouth with a low groan. He swallows, smiling a little to himself with self-satisfaction. He did this for Enjolras, did something no one else ever has. Enjolras was inside him, Enjolras came because of him, came for him. Oh, that’s good—the thought makes him reel a little. 

“Fuck,” Enjolras says, pulling away. “ _‘Aire._ ”

“Hi,” Grantaire manages, absurdly.

“Wait, are you okay?”

“Hmm. Yeah.” He feels excellent, actually, a little sleepy and dozy and just good. Part of him is aware that he’s almost dropping into subspace, which he shouldn’t let happen because this isn’t a scene, just a blowjob that got fairly (delightfully) out of hand. He’s too happy to worry too much about that, or anything, really.

But Enjolras is dropping to one knee in front of him, cupping Grantaire’s face between both his hands. Grantaire is too relaxed to quell the urge to nuzzle into the touch, so he does. Enjolras pets him obligingly, and Grantaire is fairly sure he purrs out loud. That doesn’t seem to be enough reassurance, though, as Enjolras asks, his voice hurried, panicked: 

“Was I too rough? I’m sorry. I totally lost control, I don’t know what I was—“

“Enjolras?” Grantaire says, when he can get his mind together enough to actually make his mouth move. 

“Yes?”

“If you apologize to me again for the greatest experience of my life, I will kick your ass.”

“Oh.” There is a long pause, and then Enjolras laughs. The sound is bright and clear, like a bell ringing, and it makes Grantaire feel warm and soft in his chest, as if something is blooming there. Lots of metaphors. Too many, but he doesn’t care. 

“I liked it,” he clarifies. 

“Will you let me repay the favor, at least?” Enjolras follows up, moving his hand down from Grantaire’s cheek, lower, toward his chest and then tracing down toward his groin. Grantaire smiles up at him, perfectly happy. He is Enjolras’, there for the taking. 

“Now you’re talking.”


	2. begging

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i promise this will eventually be more than "accidental kink: the fic"

He doesn’t mean to do it. He’s actually trying to be normal for once, and he knows that all of this, all of sex, is brand new to Enjolras. He doesn’t want to drive him off by revealing exactly how weird his personal desires are. (Very weird, is the answer. But that’s for Grantaire to know and other people, especially Enjolras, to maybe never find out). Besides, kink is great and all, but it’s nowhere near as great as _Enjolras._ He’s more than happy to keep things more, well, normal, at least for now. Or indefinitely, if it turns out that’s what Enjolras wants. He figures they’ll talk about it in some sort of sober and clothes-on fashion once Enjolras is a little more experienced with all of this. He definitely isn’t planning to spring it on him mid-sex, which even he, with his underdeveloped sense of ethics, knows isn’t right. 

It’s just that, when they are actually in Enjolras’ bed, and Enjolras is fucking him, it kind of _happens._

“Fuck, fuck, Enjolras, fuck me, _please—_ “

As soon as he hears the word come out of his mouth, he bites down _hard_ on his lower lip, hard enough to bleed a little. He didn’t mean to beg. And he really doesn’t want to make this one of Enjolras’ things where they have to stop and not have any more fun and instead talk about, like, the nature of their relationship and the importance of consent and a bunch of other shit that Grantaire, frankly, does not want to be bothered by. 

But for once, Enjolras doesn’t hesitate or try to turn it into a discussion. Instead, he drops down onto his forearms, so that their chests press together, and thrusts in hard, burying his whole length inside Grantaire’s eager body. Grantaire hears the high-pitched, desperate moan come from his mouth and isn’t even ashamed of it because, _yes,_ he needed this. 

“Ask me,” Enjolras says, _growls,_ really, his voice low and animalistic.

“Oh,” is all Grantaire can dumbly reply, because Enjolras is buried all the way inside him, making tiny circles with his hips that bring his hard cock against the perfect spot inside him every time. He’s lost in the pleasure, lost in the shock that he can have this, all of this, that he doesn’t have to be afraid of anything because Enjolras is here with him, Enjolras wants him, just like this. 

“Ask me for what you want, ‘Aire.”

“I want you to fuck me.”

“Ask me nicely.”

And, oh, he will. He didn’t mean to start begging, but now that he has, yes, this is what he wants. To give in to Enjolras. To debase himself, but only in this tender, needy, mutual way. “Please, I want you to fuck me, _please_.”

“Yes,” Enjolras hisses, his lips swallowing Grantaire’s in a fierce kiss, and then he does as Grantaire asked, _begged,_ him to do. He fucks him hard, with all his strength, as Grantaire moans and writhes beneath him. 

Permission apparently given, Grantaire can’t stop the flood of words leaking from his mouth. Shutting up has never been one of his great talents, anyway, and why start now? Under these circumstances, it can hardly be expected of him. Not when Enjolras wants it too, and has asked, told him to do it.

“Please, please, Enjolras, fuck me, please, don’t stop, never stop, please—“ He’s aware that it’s basically nonsense, but he doesn’t care enough to try to stop, not when Enjolras looks so blissfully into every word of desperation falling from his lips, not when every time he speaks Enjolras fucks him even harder. It hurts, now, which is what he wanted. To be taken, used, claimed, just like this. He wants to be Enjolras’, and, without really thinking, he finds himself begging for that too. “Make me yours, take me, however you want, please, I’m yours, please—“

He doesn’t get a chance to doubt how Enjolras is going to take that. His hips stutter inside Grantaire, and then he’s coming. 

“Yes, please, come inside me, please claim me,” he’d be a little embarrassed by the nonsense if he had time to think but he doesn’t, Enjolras is pulling him up to sitting and wrapping a hand around his cock and growling in his ear.

“Ask me. Before you come, beg me.”

And, well, that starts pretty much right away because he’s close and Enjolras is touching him just right, as desperate and rough as the fucking had been, and so he just keeps begging, “please let me come, please, Enjolras, please, I need it so bad, please, it feels so fucking good, please, say I can, please,” and Enjolras blessedly doesn’t make him beg for long, doesn’t force him to wait which is good because he’s running out of things to say and also his willpower is not _that_ strong, he’s not superhuman, and it feels so good and the feeling of Enjolras’ hand around him and the knowledge that Enjolras has just come inside him and even the needy whimpering of his own pleading voice all drive him further down and then finally Enjolras speaks, low in his ear.

“You can come.”

At once, orgasm overtakes him. He cries out Enjolras’ name and maybe a few more pleas, he can’t be certain. Everything is perfect white-hot bliss. 

Afterwards, they curl up in bed together.

“We’re going to have to talk about this in the morning,” Enjolras threatens.

“Okay.”

“I was expecting more resistance.”

“I mean, you won’t catch me begging for a serious conversation, but… I guess it’s probably due, right? It’s not something we can just fall into.”

Enjolras laughs at his dumb joke, luckily, and then continues. “I’m worried we could. And I want to make sure we do this right. Because, well, I’m hoping we’ll do it for a long time.”

Grantaire smiles to himself, hidden against Enjolras’ shoulder. “Me too,” he confesses, desperate as any plea.


	3. day three: sensory deprivation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has been reading and enjoying! This is a lot of fun and I'm excited to do more. Hopefully the next chapter will be up today--I'm trying to catch up by the end of the long weekend but who knows.

This is different. This is the first time they’ve done something kinky _on purpose._ Everything else has been a slip-up on Grantaire’s part. But at Enjolras’ insistence, they’d talked about the accidental begging and Grantaire’s obvious (he thought he’d been hiding it, but apparently it was obvious) preference for things to be on the rougher side, and Enjolras had shown a shocking willingness to experiment. They’re starting simple, but that doesn’t shake Grantaire’s anxiety. 

Of course, it’s just a blindfold. Grantaire has done way more hardcore stuff. Grantaire has done upside-down suspension bondage in front of a room full of strangers _plus_ a blindfold. Just having his vision taken away shouldn’t be making him nervous.

The difference, of course, is that this time he’s doing it with Enjolras. So it’s not just a sexy adventure. It’s intimacy. It’s part of their _relationship._ It’s a lot more than just a blindfold. 

“Are you sure about this, ‘Aire?”

“I’m sure.”

“Okay.” Enjolras leans in close and kisses him. At the sensation of Enjolras’ soft, warm lips against his own, Grantaire immediately begins to relax, and Enjolras (typically sneaky) takes the opportunity to slip the blindfold over Grantaire’s head. “Your hands are free, so any time you want, you can just take it off, okay? I promise I won’t be mad or disappointed or anything. I’ll be glad.” As he talks, his voice low and soothing, he’s tying the blindfold behind Grantaire’s head. And although he knows Enjolras is doing this for the first time, he moves with a smooth, experienced confidence that helps Grantaire relax. 

“I know.” And he actually does, is the funny thing. He knows that Enjolras, being Enjolras, cares much more about consent than about the act itself. He even knows that Enjolras cares more about _him_ than he does about doing this. All he has to do is trust Enjolras. And, of course, he does. 

“Can you see at all?”

“No,” Grantaire assures him. “It’s perfect.”

“You look pretty perfect yourself,” Enjolras says, and that’s a nice distraction from Grantaire’s worry. He can focus on Enjolras’ voice and the way it makes him feel and, oh, Enjolras’ hand running down the side of his face, and cupping his cheek and tilting his face upward to kiss him again, tenderly and thoroughly. Grantaire groans into Enjolras’ mouth, giving in to the sweet, insistent pressure of the kiss. Everything is a thousand times more intense, which is what being blindfolded is always like, except that, again, this time it’s _Enjolras_ touching him, Enjolras who has him at his mercy, and that makes it better than anything else has ever been, he’s pretty sure. At least, he can’t think of anything better. Or anything at all, at this particular moment. 

Enjolras’ fingers make their way up to Grantaire’s hair, tugging gently, and that’s all Grantaire needs to start to feel himself fall apart in Enjolras’ hands. The blindfold (well, really it’s one of Enjolras’ two million stupid scarves, appropriated for this, nobler purpose) is secure, and he can’t see anything. All he can do is feel as Enjolras presses him back, back, until he’s lying flat on the bed with Enjolras on top of him, pinning him down.

He’s pretty sure he whimpers at the feeling, so much more intense than it usually would be. He’s hyper-conscious of his own erection, of the pressure of Enjolras’ cock against his thigh, of his nipples, hard and taut under his shirt, of his breath turning into ragged gasps. 

He pliantly moves with Enjolras’ hands as Enjolras strips him naked, helping as much as he can, but is surprised and a little turned on to realize he can barely even undress himself. He’s helpless, giving in under Enjolras’ control. It’s more of a thrill, more of a _thing,_ than he expected. He gets tangled foolishly in his shirt and Enjolras has to help him, his touch as dextrous and confident as Grantaire’s is useless and fumbling. 

And once he’s finally naked, Enjolras directs him to lie back and begins to drop kisses all over his bare chest and thighs and hips, and Grantaire can feel every bit of it, the hot press of his lips, the warmth of his breath, the wetness of his mouth. He’s left groaning much sooner than he would have expected, and then remembers again how laid out he is, sightless and confined and giving himself to Enjolras, and he _feels_ his cock twitch.

“Oh, you like that?” Enjolras asks. When Grantaire doesn’t respond, Enjolras gently rakes his fingernails across Grantaire’s chest, hard enough to hurt just a little. “Answer,” he commands, and Grantaire sighs out, “Yes, _please_.”

Begging had gotten him into this situation, and it works a second time. He doesn’t get to see Enjolras’ reaction, but he feels it, Enjolras’ cock now bare and protruding from his jeans and hard against Grantaire’s skin.

“Touch me,” Enjolras says, and what can Grantaire do but obey? He wraps his hand around Enjolras’ cock and strokes, firm and steady, the way he has learned Enjolras likes over the last month.

Again, the blindfold changes everything. It even feels different, the silky smoothness of Enjolras’ skin and the marble hardness underneath. He’s sensitive to every fold and vein, and the single drop of precome against his fingers as he closes his hand over the tip feels like a revelation. He listens for every gasp, every break, every shift in Enjolras’ breathing, feels every twitch and spasm of his cock. And then Enjolras starts to thrust openly into his hand, kissing Grantaire fiercely as he does, and Grantaire is lost in a world where nothing but this matters, nothing but the knowledge that he is Enjolras’ and he is exactly where Enjolras wants him to be. Their kisses turn desperate and then filthy, Enjolras’ tongue plundering Grantaire’s mouth as he thrusts hard into Grantaire’s fist, and Grantaire is sightless and submissive underneath him, and this is where he belongs. 


	4. day four: spanking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this one is, like, exactly what it says on the tin

In a refreshing change, _Enjolras_ had been the one who freaked out about spanking.

Of course, being Enjolras, he freaked out only in the most respectful and reassuring and compassionate possible way. Unlike Grantaire, who just says whatever shit pops into his head, Enjolras is processing his feelings with care. 

“It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s, well, actually what it is is that I do want to, and that kind of really scares me,” he had confessed.

Enjolras hadn’t had a problem with any of the rest of what they’d done together, but spanking is different in his mind. That’s not about mutual pleasure, he thinks. It’s about hurting Grantaire. Which, again, he wants to do, but also feels guilty about. 

Grantaire is just grateful he’s being so upfront about it all. It makes it difficult for even Grantaire’s freakout-prone brain to freak out about the possibility of Enjolras’ reticence being caused by something else, something like, for instance, a deep disgust at the idea of having to touch Grantaire in such an intimate, physical way, or a belief that Grantaire, because he _badly_ wants Enjolras to do this to him, is a filthy freak. Enjolras has been perfectly clear from the outset of this whole spanking conversation (which, bizarrely, is now a thing he and Enjolras have. Spanking conversations). He wants it. He just doesn’t know if he can let himself have it.

“Okay, so, what are you scared of? Are you scared of hurting me more than I want?” Because Grantaire has all kinds of ideas for how, exactly, he can demonstrate that spanking him is actually a rare idea of unmatchable brilliance, but determining an exact strategy does kind of depend on figuring out what Enjolras is struggling to accept.

“I’m scared that I want to. I don’t… I don’t like that I want to do this.”

“But isn’t it different, that I want you to?”

“I would still want to. If you didn’t.”

Oh, so that’s it. It all makes sense now. Enjolras, model of ethical behavior, justice and righteousness—and reluctant sadist. It would be ironic, if it weren’t several dozen of Grantaire’s most profound erotic fantasies all crashing to life at the exact same time. “Well, there’s no sense in worrying about that one way or the other,” Grantaire says, he thinks, quite sensibly.

“What?”

“I do want to. And if I didn’t, it doesn’t really matter if you’d still want to or not, because you _wouldn’t._ ”

Even Enjolras, in one of his self-loathing moods, can’t argue with that because it’s just a fact. Grantaire feels entirely confident about it, at least. Enjolras may want things he shouldn’t want (although Grantaire maintains that it is perfectly fine to want to smack someone else as long as that person is as pro-being-smacked as Grantaire is) but he would never, ever do them without enthusiastic consent. 

“Will you try it with me? Just give me, like, twenty.”

“Ten,” Enjolras counters, exactly as Grantaire had intended. Enjolras must know that from the grin on Grantaire’s face, and clearly feels a little chagrined, but not enough to go back on what he, too, wants. 

“Great. How are we doing this? Want me to just drop ‘em and bend over, or—“

Grantaire was joking (mostly) when he suggested that, but the glint in Enjolras’ eyes is unmistakeable. However, talking about it is one thing…

“We don’t have to, you know. I want to, but there’s no, like, problem if you don’t. Even if I don’t totally get your reason for not wanting to, you can just… I mean, we can just not do it. And that’s totally fine and valid, if that’s what you want. What I’m trying to say is, no pressure from me, okay? It’s whatever you want.”

“‘Aire?”

“Yeah?”

“What I want is for you to drop ‘em and bend over.”

Well, Grantaire certainly can’t argue with that. Ignoring any little twinges of shame, he undoes his jeans and shimmies them down to his knees. “Against the wall, or—“

“Over my lap.” Enjolras settles himself on the couch, legs spread wide, fully dressed, looking completely regal and composed and not at all like he was freaking out roughly five seconds ago. Grantaire envies him many things, and his ability to turn on a dime like that is high up on the list. Grantaire is still adjusting to the sudden transition in mood himself, but, well, Enjolras is being pretty clear about what comes next.

Over his lap. Right. He’s suddenly _very_ conscious of the fact that his naked erection is bobbing through the air as he shuffles, effectively hobbled by the jeans, over to Enjolras. He leans over gingerly, trying to arrange himself somewhat neatly, but Enjolras’ hand reaches out, pulling him firmly into place. He sighs, relaxing into Enjolras’ lap, relieved to have Enjolras in control, just before the first hit lands.

It doesn’t even sting, but he still gasps a little. 

“Okay?” Enjolras asks.

“You can hit harder than that,” Grantaire mumbles.

The next two spanks are vicious, landing right at the curve of Grantaire’s ass. “I think I’ll decide how hard,” Enjolras tells him, and Grantaire just nods, stupidly grateful. Part of him wants to beg for more, harder, for this to never stop, but he doesn’t have to. He doesn’t even have to ask, because Enjolras will decide exactly what he gets, how much pain, how much pleasure. The fourth blow lands, stinging perfectly across the plump middle of his ass, and he sighs in pleasure. He’s still hard as a rock, but that doesn’t feel like it matters now. Nothing matters except Enjolras, running his fingertips across Grantaire’s skin where it’s hot and red, and carefully deciding where to lay the next blow. The fifth lands, hurting perfectly, and Enjolras murmurs, “Halfway, are you okay?” and Grantaire is floating, flying, and he says “Yes” and asks for more and Enjolras, miraculously, gives it to him.


	5. day five: sadism/masochism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're catching up, team!
> 
> no special warnings for this.

Grantaire has created a monster. Of course, unlike (or possibly just like, he didn’t actually read the book, he’s faking, like, 80% of his cultural references) Dr. Frankenstein, he set out to create this monster, and he’s pretty fucking excited about it. And pretty excited about fucking it. Ha. He’s giddy, obviously, and his internal monologue is off the rails, because what he’s created is Enjolras the Sadist. 

Enjolras the Sadist looks exactly like regular Enjolras—angelically handsome, perfect golden curls, marble body, radiantly intense blue eyes—and acts almost exactly like regular Enjolras—dignified, composed, filled with righteous and potentially dangerous and highly arousing fury—except that, unlike regular Enjolras, who is always thinking about several dozen things, most of which have to do with saving the world, Enjolras the Sadist cares about only and exactly one thing, and that’s hurting Grantaire. 

It’s the only time Enjolras ever focuses on one thing, especially only one Grantaire-related thing, and that’s pretty amazing. Also pretty painful. Well, very painful. Delightfully, deliciously, agonizingly painful. 

They haven’t graduated to what Grantaire considers varsity level kinks yet—no bondage, no choking, no implements—but that doesn’t stop Enjolras from inflicting a really shockingly significant degree of very serious pain on Grantaire. At a level of frequency that just helps build things up, because he’s always kind of bruised and thus pleasantly and painfully reminded both of what has happened to him (being hurt by Enjolras) and what is going to happen to him (being hurt by Enjolras some more). 

Enjolras the Sadist has just finished spanking Grantaire, which he’s done at least once a day since his initial appearance, and has moved on to other, subtler but more intense forms of torment. Grantaire is on his back, legs spread, arms above his head, because that’s where Enjolras told him to be, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t make a good canvas for this incredible new side of Enjolras to take wing.

He thinks that makes sense. Maybe he’s lost the metaphor a little. And either way, he doesn’t care, because Enjolras is biting his inner thigh, which hurts a lot, like a lot, but also brings Enjolras’ mouth so close to his hard cock that Grantaire can feel his breath which is _so_ nice, even though he knows Enjolras isn’t going to touch him there because he was deliciously clear that this isn’t about sex, this is about pain, this is about him giving Grantaire as much as he can handle and Grantaire taking it, for him. 

Well, okay, it’s still kind of about sex, even if there isn’t going to be any orgasming involved. For Grantaire, anyway, it’s always going to be at least kind of about sex, any time that Enjolras has his hands on him. Like now, when his hands are pinning Grantaire’s hips to the mattress so that he can get a better angle to bite down into his thigh so viciously hard that Grantaire imagines he has to be breaking the skin even though the tiny, like, .02% of his brain that’s still sort of rational recognizes that there is exactly no way on Earth that Enjolras would be willing to make him bleed, at least, not without carefully discussing it in about four hundred million different ways first.

Maybe one day Enjolras will tie him down and beat him bloody. Mmm. He likes that idea, at least in theory. It’s, of course, possible that he wouldn’t like it quite as much if it were actually happening to him and his poor innocent ass. Although he certainly likes this, as much as it’s hurting him, because it’s hurting him. His mind is swimming and he doesn’t care. 

And then Enjolras takes hold of the part of Grantaire’s thigh that he’s just been biting and grips it between his fingers and _twists,_ and Grantaire _screams,_ and then he’s not thinking about anything at all except Enjolras, all around him, hurting him.

It’s a different kind of pain than spanking is. He can still feel his sore ass, hurting a little every time he moves wrong and presses it against the mattress, but this is more, somehow. Deeper, sharper, less predictable, purer. It’s more connected even than Enjolras’ hand on his ass, maybe because there’s no rhythm to this, no number of strokes, no point except Enjolras hurting him. Right now Enjolras is raking his fingernails sharply up and down the length of Grantaire’s thighs, biting the sensitive curve of his stomach in reprimand every time Grantaire lets out a noise louder than a whimper. 

Grantaire is learning a lot about his body today, about exactly where the sensitive spots are, exactly how he can be hurt most, the pain driving in deeper and deeper every time Enjolras’ teeth close around his skin. He’s a little amazed at exactly how much pain Enjolras can inflict with no implement at all, with nothing but his own body. 

Enjolras is pinching at his nipples now with both hands, almost absentmindedly, as his teeth continue to scrape along Grantaire’s abdomen. Grantaire can feel tears leaking slowly out of his eyes, but he is silent now, not twitching or crying out, lost in obedience, lost in submission to the pain and to Enjolras. 

“How are you feeling?” Enjolras murmurs against one of the many bruises he’s created. It takes Grantaire a while to be able to speak.

“Gooood,” he slurs, and it’s true. He hurts all over, and though there’s still that little part of his mind crying out ‘what are you thinking, ow, make it stop,’ mostly he’s just happy and relaxed and more or less thrilled.

“Do you want me to stop?”

This takes Grantaire a minute. In his defense, his brain is on slow mode and it’s a hard question. But eventually, with a smile, he settles on the right answer. “Whatever you want.”

Enjolras grins up at him, sharp and predatory, and Grantaire settles into the pain to come. 


	6. day six: cock worship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am NOT happy with this chapter but I am extremely thrilled that it's done. 
> 
> Also I'm terrible at math so I will not be catching up today but maybe tomorrow. Hopefully still one more chapter to come tonight though.

They’ve come full circle, back to the land of blowjobs. Grantaire’s natural domain. 

Once again, though, this represents a new thing for them. It shouldn’t feel as new as spanking, maybe, but it does, because it’s all tied up in emotion and their relationship and all those other things Grantaire tries to pretend aren’t a part of their sex life but totally are in everything they do. In this, though, there’s no way to hide exactly how Enjolras feels about him.

He worships him. And this time, that’s the name of the game. 

In the long initial conversation they’d had about all of this stuff, Grantaire had quietly confessed that he’d always wanted to try some of the more complicated forms of submission. Ritual stuff, standing orders, maybe one day even a collar. But since he’d never had a power exchange relationship that lasted longer than roughly three hours, that obviously hadn’t been anything resembling possible. Enjolras, in turn, had promised that they would try it as soon as they could.

Enjolras being Enjolras, he had shortly thereafter presented Grantaire with a typed and numbered list of instructions and told him he had one week to memorize them and that he’d be very sorry if there were any mistakes. 

And now it’s time for the test. Grantaire thinks he’s ready, but he guesses Enjolras is going to be the judge of that.

Per his very clear instructions, Grantaire is waiting for Enjolras naked, blindfold on, kneeling, hands behind his back. It’s not a very comfortable posture, especially because the wait (which he intellectually knows can’t be more than a minute or two, that’s what they agreed on after all and Enjolras would never push him in any direction he didn’t want to go) feels interminable and frankly, pretty terrifying. But then Enjolras’ hand is in his hair and everything is okay. All the worry goes out of him at once, and he relaxes into the posture of submission.

“Do you want something?” Enjolras asks, just the right note of condescension in his voice. Grantaire can’t see his face, obviously, but he can imagine the smirk that Enjolras must be wearing, and that’s more than good enough.

“Yes, please.”

“What?”

“May I have—“ A lump rises in Grantaire’s throat. He’d felt okay with the dialogue (okay, very very turned on by the dialogue) when he first read Enjolras’ little script, but now he’s not quite sure he can actually make himself _say_ it. He takes a deep, steadying breath and tries again. “May I have permission to worship your cock, please, Enjolras?”

He did it. Whoot. Good for him. He deserves a prize or something. Like, not to put too fine a point on it, getting to suck Enjolras’ cock. If he gets to pick, that’s _definitely_ the prize he wants. 

“You may,” Enjolras says, his tone warm and kind of… indulgent, Grantaire guesses? Whatever it is, it makes something unfurl inside him, and he smiles. 

“Thank you.”

Enjolras doesn’t touch him at all, leaving Grantaire to move onto step two of his very clear instructions. He undoes Enjolras’ zipper with his teeth, and then moves to fumble at the button. This part is harder, but the instructions were very specific that he was to keep his hands to himself, so he doesn’t mind making a bit of a fool of himself, especially since Enjolras eventually laughs at him and pushes him back onto his knees. Grantaire can hear him undoing his own pants and pulling down his briefs, and imagines, though of course cannot see, the moment when his cock is revealed. He makes a mental note that Enjolras laughing at him is a bigger turn on that he should be, and that he should probably tell Enjolras that if he wants to have it used against him in the best way possible, and then he focuses back in on very important things, like the fact that he can just feel Enjolras’ cock brushing against his lips, so soft and warm and perfect. 

Worship is exactly what Grantaire wants to do to it. And lucky, lucky him, because he gets to. Not only that, he gets to know exactly how Enjolras wants him to do it. He starts, as required, with a gentle kiss to the very tip. He is pleasantly surprised to taste wet saltiness there, as though Enjolras is already leaking precum. 

Having begun in an appropriately respectful manner, exactly what Enjolras’ cock deserves, he licks from top to bottom, covering every inch. Only then, having traced every part of Enjolras’ cock with his tongue, does he take it into his mouth. He focuses on relaxing his jaw and breathing in hard through his nose, because he wants to be able to take Enjolras all the way in, wants to be able to give him the total submission, the perfect pleasure, that he deserves.

Fuck, this is all really going to Grantaire’s head. Which was the idea, right, except that he wasn’t totally expecting that it would in such a complete and wonderful way. 

Enjolras still isn’t touching him, just standing there and probably smirking down at him still and hopefully enjoying himself, and Grantaire is lost in this. 

There’s a surprisingly large part of him declaring that this, this is where he’s always belonged. And he can’t find it anywhere in himself to disagree.

The only thing that matters is that he’s on his knees in front of Enjolras, showing Enjolras exactly how much he adores him, making Enjolras feel exactly as good as he deserves. Enjolras’ cock is in his mouth, Enjolras is finding a perfect use for him, Enjolras is dominating him. 

“Very good,” Enjolras says, somewhere above him, as Grantaire chokes a little on Enjolras’ cock in his throat, and Grantaire feels a shiver of pleasure down his spine and tries again, gagging himself again, not caring about anything at all as long as he can be here, right here, pleasuring Enjolras, worshipping Enjolras. 


	7. day seven: praise kink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no sex in this chapter. don't worry, there's more coming.

Grantaire hates compliments. They make him acutely uncomfortable. As a result, Enjolras seems to have made it his sole purpose in life to say as many nice things to Grantaire as often as possible. 

It sounds like Grantaire is complaining about his boyfriend being nice to him when he puts it like that, he knows. But he actually doesn’t mean to. Because, in the privacy of his own head, he can kind of admit to himself that, no matter how he may feel about compliments in general, he kind of, slightly, maybe just a little bit, likes them when they’re coming from Enjolras. He figures it’s just another way that reality itself warps around the amazingness that is Enjolras.

He just has to make sure Enjolras doesn’t find out, because _that_ would be embarrassing. And not in a fun, sexy way.

Enjolras praises him at basically every opportunity. During sex—even weird, intense, kinky sex, sometimes _especially_ during weird, intense, kinky sex when Enjolras is otherwise being all in-charge and composed and pretty mean to him, he’ll stop all of a sudden and take Grantaire’s face between his hands and gaze deep into his eyes and say, in that very serious and profound voice that he usually only adopts when he’s talking about, like, voting rights or something, “You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life.” Which makes Grantaire twitchy and nervous but also has been known to make him come untouched, which is probably at least part of why Enjolras keeps doing it. Once again, Grantaire is betrayed by his body. 

And the physical stuff, especially when it’s in a sexy context—Enjolras likes to call him beautiful, sexy, gorgeous, even sometimes adorable—is one thing, because he has come to terms long ago with the fact that he is not conventionally what anyone would call attractive (or even call not-hideous) and has also, somewhat more recently, come to terms with the fact that Enjolras thinks he’s extremely appealing and enjoys looking at him and touching him and fucking him in about four thousand different ways. Which doesn’t make any sense but, you know, he’ll take it. He’ll even take the compliments that go along with the fucking with reasonably good grace, maybe slightly in part because Enjolras has shown a willingness to give him quite a spanking when he tries to argue with them, and has more than once threatened to tie him down and make him listen. Which isn’t exactly Grantaire’s idea of a fun scene—there is a long list of other things he wants to be made to do while Enjolras has him tied down. He stopped arguing about that whole set of compliments a while ago, because he wasn’t winning that one. 

So he’s made his peace with occasionally being complimented during sex about sexy things. Fine. But Enjolras _insists_ on also complimenting him about all sorts of other things. After they’ve finished fucking, he’ll take, like, half an hour to tell Grantaire, in elaborate detail, exactly how good and sweet and wonderful he was, how much Enjolras appreciates the chance to take care of him like this, how much he’d enjoyed the scene. And, okay, Grantaire understands the idea of aftercare, like, in the abstract, but not usually quite so much as it applies to him. Okay, he’s done it, right, in the sense of drinking some juice and maybe cuddling for a bit, but he hasn’t ever had Enjolras praising every single thing he did or said during the entire scene in elaborate and distressingly sincere detail. 

And all that is not even to include all the times Enjolras compliments him that have absolutely nothing at all to do with the more intimate parts of their relationship. For instance, recently Grantaire has been regularly catching Enjolras telling one of their friends about something hilarious Grantaire said, or a delicious meal he cooked, or how beautiful the most recent painting he’s working on is, or a brilliant insight he had on one of Enjolras’ speeches that he was proofreading (although, fortunately, Enjolras is too tactful to share his opinions about Grantaire’s sexual prowess with Courfeyrac and Combeferre). 

It’s embarrassing, is what it is. And the other problem is that Grantaire likes it, a lot. 

Maybe even in a slightly sexy way. 

He maintains that this is in no way his fault. By constantly praising him during sex, Enjolras has somehow classically conditioned him into getting vaguely turned on every time he hears a compliment. He refused to let Grantaire have his usual out of making self-deprecating jokes or, failing that, just leaving the room whenever anyone says something too nice to him, so his subconscious is finding another way to deal with it. And thus, as is so often the case with Grantaire’s ever-malfunctioning brain, he’s sublimated it into some kind of sexy thing as, like, a coping mechanism.

He floats this theory to Joly and Boussuet one night, while they are (of course) all three tremendously drunk. Joly is the first to start laughing, and Boussuet joins in soon after. 

When they’ve finally stopped laughing at him (way less fun than when Enjolras does it in a sexy way, for the record), Joly is the first to speak. “Have you ever considered, my friend, that maybe you just like it when your boyfriend is nice to you?”

“What?”

“It feels good to be complimented by the person you like! It’s kind of a turn on, it’s kind of just nice. I hate to break it to you, ‘Aire, but that is pretty mucha universal part of the human condition.”

Grantaire sulks his way through the rest of his beer, but he feels a little bit easier about it that night when Enjolras wraps an arm around him and says, “You’re amazing, ‘Aire.”

“You too,” he replies, with a smile and a kiss to Enjolras’ cheek. It’s not quite acceptance, but it’s close.


	8. day eight: angry sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an argument could be made that what follows is slightly unhealthy kink. it's not intended that way but i wanted to give people a heads up about the content in case anyone is sensitive to it: basically, rough/painful sex as a coping mechanism for anger (about something unrelated to the relationship).
> 
> the other warning is for the grossly underdeveloped worldbuilding in this fic, which is honestly JUST about bdsm as much as i'd like to pretend otherwise

“I have a suggestion,” Grantaire says, swallowing hard. He isn’t sure how Enjolras is going to take this. He’s pretty sure disgust is off the table, as is unquestioning acceptance, but it could be anywhere in between. 

“How can you fix this? You’re going to get two hundred and fifty people to sign this petition by six AM tomorrow?”

The sarcasm in his voice would be more than a little hurtful if it weren’t for the fact that, okay, Grantaire is definitely not going to do anything like that. “That’s not the kind of help I had in mind,” he says, keeping his voice deliberately steady. If Enjolras is going to take him up on this (unlikely, but possible) he has to be convinced that Grantaire knows exactly what he’s getting himself into and wants it anyway. That does have the advantage of being true, but might not be enough. 

It’s just that Grantaire really wants to _help_ him. And he knows that sex is kind of a silly way to try to do that, except that Grantaire isn’t any good at any of the other kinds of help that Enjolras needs and anyway doesn’t have the follow through or the luck or the unshakeable belief in people or any of that stuff. What he does have is an ability to appeal to the previously unknown side of Enjolras that is, like, really fucking kinky.

“I think that you should let Combeferre and Courfeyrac take over the petition. And I think you should take something else. That is, your frustration. Out. On me.”

Enjolras blinks at him slowly. As he always does in awkward moments, Grantaire begins to babble. “So, they’re the power team of recruitment, and you know that. I mean, you are wonderful. I follow you, right. But that’s once people get to know you. When it comes to appealing to new people, um, there can be a little bit of a gap where you’re, like, quoting Marx when it’s time to sign a petition for better wheelchair access on campus, and people get a little lost? You’ve also been known to occasionally, no offense, start slight little arguments with new people who are generally on the same side. Remember Marius? But Combeferre is informed and Courfeyrac is likable and knows _everyone_ and between the two of them they can do this, and I think you would be best serving the cause by taking care of yourself so that you can get this petition filed, and that means you need to calm down, and, like I suggested, I am on offer to help with that, if you’d like.” He suddenly realizes how long he’s been talking for, and that he’s managed to insult Enjolras, like, half a dozen times, and slams his mouth closed with an audible click.

He looks up at Enjolras, his heart beating in his chest. And Enjolras smiles at him, a cold, cruel smile, hinting at the promise of delightful pain. Well, that’s a relief. But after a second, Enjolras’ face relaxes into a more typically earnest expression. “You’re sure about this?”

“Entirely.”

“You’ll stop me if it gets to be too much?”

“Yes.” Grantaire kind of can’t believe that he’s actually going to get Enjolras to go along with this. It seemed like the kind of classic terrible Grantaire idea that Enjolras would _never_ put up with. He’s a little giddy at the evidence that his bad influence on Enjolras is actually working.

“Then get your fucking clothes off.”

Enjolras never swears, and he never sounds angry during a scene, and, okay, Grantaire is not doing this for the purely selfless reasons he may have implied previously. He also thinks the idea of a pissed-off Enjolras taking his anger out on Grantaire’s ass is, to use a scientific term, pretty hot. 

He stands in front of Enjolras, who is fully clothed, red jacket and everything, arms crossed over his chest, completely naked.

“Hands behind your neck. Look down. Spread your legs,” Enjolras orders, and Grantaire complies, getting into the position that leaves him exposed and vulnerable. He wonders where Enjolras will touch him first. 

Oh, going right for the ass. Okay. Enjolras begins spanking him, hard and unyielding, with no warm-up or lead-in or warning of any kind. Grantaire lets out a gasp at the first blow, but afterwards keeps himself silent. He can feel Enjolras’ righteous anger with every hit, which is exactly what he wanted. Honestly, it’s kind of what he has wanted since the first day he met Enjolras. When his ass is sufficiently red and beginning to bruise for Enjolras’ taste, Enjolras grabs him by the hair and pushes him onto his knees, which, yes, good.

Enjolras settles in behind him and immediately starts pushing two lube-slicked fingers into Grantaire. He isn’t sure where Enjolras had the lube stashed, and also, he does _not_ care, because Enjolras’ fingers are stabbing into him painfully and roughly, which he’s never done before and Grantaire loves the feeling of Enjolras’ anger being fucked into him.

“That’s all you’re getting,” Enjolras announces, wiping his fingers clean on Grantaire’s thigh like he’s a towel or something, which _also_ goes right to Grantaire’s head. Okay, he’s pretty predictable. And then Enjolras is grabbing his hair and forcing his head down to the ground, grinding his face into the floor, and fucking him. It’s hard and rough, actually, it’s brutal, and every thrust feels like it’s breaking his underprepared body open, and it feels so, so good. 

“Yes, please,” Grantaire whimpers.

“Shut up.”

Grantaire can’t stifle a moan at that, but then bites his lip, trying to keep his desperate noises of pleasure to himself. Afterwards, he knows, Enjolras will hold him close and clean him up and probably tell him all kinds of sweet things and apologize unnecessarily, but for now, that side of Enjolras is far away. All there is is this—Enjolras taking his due, and Grantaire giving, gladly.


	9. day nine: bondage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter also features orgasm control/denial and riding, just fyi. not kinks for the day, just... other kinks that feature prominently.
> 
> i'm all caught up! so expect one a day from now on roughly

Then again, the careful and restrained aspects of Enjolras’ dominance have plenty to recommend them as well, Grantaire muses as the last knot is tied around his waist. After all, this would be impossible, or at least so unsafe as not to be any fun even if you’re Grantaire, if Enjolras were doing it in any mood other than the current calm, meditative one. But luckily, Enjolras has many different aspects of dominance. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Good,” Grantaire says, which for some reason makes Enjolras frown.

“You seem uncharacteristically composed.”

“Sorry?” It’s just that this is sort of less physical and more relaxing than the sex they usually have, which, again, is fine with Grantaire. It feels really nice, being encased in rope like this, being the focus of such careful attention. It just isn’t driving him out of his mind. 

“Let’s see if we can change that,” Enjolras says, and pulls on one of the ropes, and, okay, now Grantaire is 100% completely and totally tied to this chair. As in, could not move even if he tried, no matter how hard he tried. Which is pretty awesome because, no matter how much he likes letting Enjolras manhandle him, the fact remains that Grantaire is always _letting_ him do it. If he tried (which he doesn’t! because he doesn’t want to! but he is only occasionally able to forget that he _could_ ), if it came to a fair fight, Grantaire would take him. Not now. Now, Grantaire is entirely, certifiably, at Enjolras’ mercy. Enjolras could do anything he wanted to him and Grantaire can’t possibly stop him. 

Enjolras could really hurt him, and he would just have to take it, he thinks, because of course that’s where his mind goes. Grantaire’s id is like the direct-to-masochism-express. 

“How does it feel?” Enjolras asks again, running his fingers through Grantaire’s hair, which is, like, the only part of his whole body that can move. Grantaire sort of hopes he’ll pull it, but he doesn’t. 

Grantaire hums in pleasure, and Enjolras laughs.

“See, that’s the kind of response I’m looking for.”

“Yay,” Grantaire mumbles. He wants to let his head rest against the palm of Enjolras’ hand, but the ropes prevent that. Oh, that’s nice. He’s caught here. He can breathe comfortably, but otherwise he can’t move—not his legs, which are firmly attached to each of the chair’s legs, spreading them apart and leaving his cock exposed except for the single circle of rope forming a cock ring, not his hips, which are tied to the seat of the chair, not his chest, tied into an elaborate harness and fixed to the back, and not his arms, which are bound behind him. He guesses he can wiggle his toes, but that’s all. 

“Comfortable?”

“Very.”

“Good. Because you’re going to be there a little while.”

“Yay,” Grantaire repeats. 

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself. I wonder how you’ll feel about the next part.”

Probably great, if Grantaire’s past experiences with Enjolras’ plans are any indication, but who knows. Maybe he’s suddenly got some horrible thing in mind. Grantaire will just have to endure. What a terrible fate for him. 

Enjolras straddles his hips, settling down over his lap, although he doesn’t quite rest his weight on Grantaire. If he were free, Grantaire might try to pull him down to feel his presence a little more, but he’s not. He gets as much, or as little, of Enjolras as Enjolras chooses to give. 

Which is a really nice thought, but not as nice as Enjolras pulling his hair and kissing him deep and hard. Enjolras’ mercy is starting to seem like a good place to be.

And then Enjolras shifts forward a little bit and suddenly there’s something warm and wet at the tip of Grantaire’s cock and Enjolras slides slowly down, down. He’s inside Enjolras, fucking Enjolras, except not because he can’t move at all. Grantaire is seated all the way inside him now, and the urge to thrust up is unbearable, so he does, except of course the ropes catch him and he goes nowhere, no closer to pleasure. Enjolras, damn him, grins to himself, shifting ever-so-slightly forward until he finds just the right angle for himself and lets out a soft moan. 

“That’s so good. Mmmm,” he says, rocking back and forth on Grantaire’s cock. His movements are minute, enough for Grantaire to feel but not enough for him to get anywhere close to orgasm, not that he could with the rope around his cock. Enjolras finds the right rhythm for himself quickly and starts to settle into it, pleasure washing across his face. He settles one hand on Grantaire’s chest, over the swelling created by the ropes, for stability, and wraps the other around his own cock. 

He rides Grantaire for a long, long time, long enough that Grantaire’s thighs are trembling and his cock has actually started to hurt, before coming with a low groan. He pulls away from Grantaire, stands up, and presses his come-covered fingers to Grantaire’s lips. 

“Clean it,” he orders, voice low and rough. Grantaire does as he’s told, obviously. When Enjolras is satisfied, he lets go of Grantaire, strides across the room, and retrieves the book he’d been reading when Grantaire had come in with the ropes and suggested a bit of fun. Grantaire can’t help groaning in frustration. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did you want something?”

“Let me come, please,” he gasps, which he knows isn’t very polite, but still.

Enjolras spares him exactly one glance over the top of his novel. “I don’t think so. I might want to use you again later.”

Grantaire lets his head hang as low as the bonds will allow, accepting his fate. He waits there, his throbbing, hard cock wet with lube, out in the cold air, as Enjolras wraps a blanket around himself and turns a page, apparently unconscious of Grantaire sitting, desperately and entirely his, in his bonds. 


	10. day ten: hair-pulling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another chapter of (mostly) non-sexual kink
> 
> this was supposed to be a waxplay scene but this idea kind of took me over, oops.
> 
> feat.: kneeling, non-sexual submission, hair petting, subspace

Enjolras was hesitant about this kind of thing, but Grantaire is pretty sure he’s won him over. Of course, they aren’t starting with Grantaire polishing his boots or anything else fun like that, but it’s a first step down what Grantaire hopes will be a very short and exciting road to Enjolras using him as a footstool. For one example of some of the many delightful ways that past activities could be extrapolated into situations that aren’t exactly sex related, but more, you know, sex adjacent. Sex’s fun, cool neighbors. Enjolras is kind of weird about it, maybe because it’s yet another one of those things that really pushes his buttons and he doesn’t want to admit that he has those kinds of buttons, much less that they’re press-able, but Grantaire is working on that. He’s going to show him, bit by bit, that there’s nothing at all scary about more power exchange as long as it’s carefully negotiated and healthy all that, and then hopefully Enjolras will take that as a cue to make him do chores naked and beat him when his performance is unsatisfactory.

For now, though, Enjolras is being nice to him. Which he doesn’t object to, per se. It’s just different, especially since lately he’s been on a real kick of hurting Grantaire a bunch and then not letting him come. Lots of agonizingly intricate bondage, and a lot of fun (for Enjolras, at least) with some new impact toys he bought a few weeks ago. None of that is making an appearance in this scene, though, because Grantaire had talked him into a more extensive scene. 

It’s their first time doing a scene where sex isn’t directly involved, and, because Enjolras is like the most responsible person in the world (luckily, he has Grantaire to balance him out), they’re starting really simple and basic. Grantaire even has his clothes on. Well, his pajamas, really, a comfortable pair of sweatpants and a tank top. 

Grantaire is settled on his knees (a pillow placed carefully underneath them, because, well, it’s Enjolras) beside him, being petted while Enjolras works intermittently on a speech. Enjolras seems to be using Grantaire’s curls as something resembling stress relief, in a fairly regular pattern of stroke, stroke, pull, every third comb through of his fingers just hard enough to touch on the narrowest edge of pain, but not enough to _hurt,_ not really. Just enough for Grantaire to feel it.

It’s actually really nice, kneeling here, being mostly ignored. It makes him feel sort of warm inside, like there’s something holding his heart safe. What a stupid metaphor, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t have to worry about that, or, actually, about anything that isn’t Enjolras’ hand carding through his hair, pet, pet, pull. 

Slowly, he feels his head drop lower, until he’s resting it ever so slightly on Enjolras’ knee. He takes an unsteady breath, not sure if it’s allowed, and only lets it out when Enjolras settles his hand on Grantaire’s head, gently tugging him down to rest fully in his lap. Mmm, that’s nice.

“Oh, is it?” Enjolras says, aloud. Oops. Grantaire realizes he actually said that last thing out loud. Well, it doesn’t matter. He’s all here and Enjolras’ and that’s the only important thing.

Enjolras goes back to petting his hair (hooray!) and then tangles his fingers in Grantaire’s curls, holding still for a little bit as Grantaire settles into his new place, snuggled up against Enjolras’ leg like some kind of favored pet. Once Grantaire is well and truly comfortable, and actually possibly starting to fall apart a little bit, Enjolras tugs at his hair hard enough to bring tears to his eyes. Grantaire lets out a surprised little yelp.

“Shh,” Enjolras soothes. “Just stay where you are for me.” He pets Grantaire back into a state of sleepy relaxation before repeating the sharp tug. This time, though, it seems to only make Grantaire feel more happily, pliably attached to Enjolras’ control. The more Enjolras touches him, the better he feels. 

This is where he belongs, he thinks to himself with a little smile. Right here, right next to Enjolras, on his knees, belonging to him, being taken care of. So many good things, and all for him, all being given to him by Enjolras. He’s so lucky. 

He has no idea how long he kneels there, drifting happily. It could be a few minutes, or it could be hours. It doesn’t matter. He’s here as long as Enjolras wants him. 

Enjolras could do _anything_ to him right now. If he wanted to fuck him or choke him or beat him bloody, Grantaire would take it and ask for more. But he’s also more than content just to kneel here, peacefully waiting for the chance to serve Enjolras’ pleasure.

“How are you doing?” Enjolras asks, after something between five minutes and fifty years. 

“Perfect,” Grantaire mumbles. “Thank you.”

“You ready to come up now?”

He sighs. He doesn’t really want to leave his knees (possibly, like, ever in his whole life) but if Enjolras says it’s time to be done, then he trusts him. “I guess.”

Enjolras laughs a little, warmly. “Only you’ve been on the ground a while—I don’t want you getting bruised, and you probably should eat something.”

“Mmkay. Whatever you say.”

Enjolras tugs on his hair, guiding him back up to a proper kneel, and then reaches down to take his arms. He pulls Grantaire up and into his lap, wrapping his arms around his waist and pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Do you know,” he says, “that you’re amazing?”

“No, silly. That’s you.” See, Enjolras is holding him and it’s warm and good, and therefore Enjolras is the amazing one. Unassailable logic.

“I really love you, ‘Aire.”

“I love you too,” Grantaire answers, turning his head into Enjolras’ chest. Soon enough, he’ll come back to reality bit by bit, but for now, he’s safe here.


	11. day eleven: object insertion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some extra warnings this time: ongoing public power exchange outside the context of a formal in-person scene, humiliation (which is gonna become a major feature going forward because, uh), probably unsafe use of sex toys, idk if you can actually wear a butt plug for like 20 hours

There’s nothing fundamentally kinky about a butt plug, Grantaire supposes. It’s a perfectly ordinary sex aid, used by many, many, perfectly vanilla couples and prostate-havers across the world.

What’s kinky about it is the _framing_.

Enjolras has him strip completely naked for the insertion, because of course he does. He has a thing about Grantaire being naked. It’s probably a power dynamic thing, he’s all clothed and put together and Grantaire is exposed and humiliated and vulnerable. He claims he just likes to look at Grantaire’s body, a claim which Grantaire finds suspect. 

So anyway, Enjolras is dressed for the day and Grantaire is naked and bent over the bed. Enjolras informs him, sounding delightfully detached, that he won’t be getting prepped for this at all. He’ll just have to take it and that’s that. The plug is really rather small, about the size of two of Enjolras’ fingers, and it’s heavily lubed up, so it slips into Grantaire’s body easily. It doesn’t hurt at all, but he’s immediately and intensely conscious of the sensation of pressure inside him. It’s a solid steel plug, so it’s unusually heavy for its small size and totally unyielding inside Grantaire. He’ll be conscious of it every second it’s inside him.

“You can get up and get dressed now,” Enjolras says, and goes off to wash his hands.

They meet back in the living room for Grantaire to review his orders before going off to work. 

Enjolras instructs him to repeat back everything they’d discussed, so he does. He’s not to move the plug or take it out unless he needs to in order to use the bathroom, in which case he can but he has to put it back in right away and text Enjolras to tell him. He’s allowed to go about all his daily activities as normal, sitting, standing, moving around, and in fact shouldn’t be prevented from them by the insertion, but he needs to text Enjolras every hour, on the hour, with a color and a quick report on how it’s making him feel. And he’s to take the plug out right away without second-guessing himself or feeling guilty or anything if it starts to be too much for him.

“And remind me why you’re wearing this plug in your ass all day?” Enjolras asks, his voice as calm as if he were asking about the weather, or something, not letting filth drip from between his lips.

Grantaire is not so composed. “So that wh-when I get home you can just fuck me, without having to wait.”

“If I decide I want to, of course,” Enjolras adds. “Maybe I won’t have any use for you today.”

Grantaire groans at that and feels his cock start to rise. Which is not good, of course, because he still has an entire day of walking around with this hard metal plug in his asshole to live through before he gets to find out whether or not Enjolras is going to _deign_ to fuck him tonight. 

“Oh, and you’re not allowed to touch yourself, obviously.”

Right. Of course. 

Enjolras doesn’t want to actually admit that he is incredibly possessive of Grantaire and loves controlling him at all times in all sorts of sexual and non-sexual ways, but he keeps accidentally showing his hand like this. One of these days Grantaire is going to get him to just give in and go for all the master/slave stuff he keeps hinting at. But corrupting Enjolras into the absolute pervert he was always meant to be is a very gradual process, and Grantaire is working on it. 

He can start with Enjolras owning his cock, and sort of work his way upwards from there to include other parts of him. 

“Have a good day, sweetheart,” Enjolras says, kissing him chastely on his lips, and sends him on his way.

The day is, obviously, torture. He’s pretty much incoherent with dazed, helpless arousal from, well, from that point on. He decides to take the Metro to work because he decides it’ll be less unpleasant than walking, and quickly finds that he can feel every bump and tremble of the train _inside his body,_ as though the plug were a vibrator. It’s horrible, and then he remembers that he’s doing it because Enjolras wants him to be ready in case he happens to get a whim to fuck Grantaire later, and Grantaire is suddenly dizzy because of the rapid displacement of, like, all of the blood in his entire body. 

Work is also awful. He’s on his feet all morning, selling books to tourists, and that involves a lot of bending and moving and talking to people to whom he doesn’t want to reveal the fact that there is a big huge steel plug inside of his ass. 

However, Grantaire is also good, as Enjolras reassures him with tedious frequency, so he texts Enjolras these complaints at the regular intervals that were requested (okay, commanded). Enjolras, bless him, takes this in the spirit in which it’s intended; i.e., a way of grinding Grantaire down a little more every time. He reminds Grantaire that it doesn’t matter how unpleasant or uncomfortable or humiliating this is for him, that Enjolras doesn’t care, that it’s all about what he wants. This is not, of course, strictly speaking true—if Grantaire really wanted to call this scene off, Enjolras would jump at the chance to demonstrate how much he cares about Grantaire’s psychological and physical well-being, et cetera. But that’s not the scene, and luckily, Enjolras is playing along.

Grantaire has been hard all day, and his ass is actually aching, by the time he starts his long walk home. Walking is even worse than the Metro. When he walks through the door, Enjolras kisses him sweetly, orders him to strip, and tells him he’ll have to wear the plug overnight. He’s not in the mood now, but he might want Grantaire in the morning.


	12. chapter twelve: pet play

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay this is like, not really the spirit of the prompt, probably, but here it is anyway.

Grantaire doesn’t have a ton of hard limits, but one of them is pretending to be any kind of animal. Barking, meowing, wearing tails, wearing ears—he’s tried it, because he’ll try _anything_ once, but it had made him feel silly, which is pretty much the opposite of sexy. It’s off the table. 

But what he’s not opposed to is the whole general _vibe._ He likes when Enjolras is domineering and cold and cruel—loves it, actually. But he’s also into the gentler, sweeter side of Enjolras that’s still in control. It’s sort of like aftercare, when he’s very firm and calm and distinctively in charge, but also only says and does nice things to Grantaire. 

So they occasionally do something that, if it can’t exactly be called pet play, is sort of pet play adjacent. Or, like, Grantaire is a pet, but he’s a human pet. Which is a nice summary of his role in Enjolras’ life, he thinks. (In addition to being a romantic partner and friend and all those other _serious_ things. He’s not talking, or rather interior-monologuing, about that. He’s interior monologuing about the fun, sexy stuff. Like being Enjolras’ personal pet.)

It’s a pretty good job, all things considered. Enjolras probably should have gotten a dog or something a long time ago, because he is an unusually stressed-out person and having some unconditional love around is definitely good for him. Luckily, he has Grantaire now.

On the days when they do this, Grantaire tends to spend most of his time naked, because, duh, pets don’t wear clothes, except for those terrible people who put their cats in little sweaters or whatever. Enjolras is definitely not that kind of person. They don’t have a collar for this yet, because they’ve talked about that (too extensively for Grantaire’s taste) and decided that it’s important for both of them to make that a commitment thing, not just an accessory for a scene. So they do without. There are plenty of ways for him to mark his role, like kneeling at Enjolras’ feet, which is something he really, really likes doing, for the record. Enjolras will work for hours, mostly but not entirely ignoring Grantaire, occasionally reaching down just to pet his hair or something, letting him drift peacefully through subspace while he types away at his laptop or pores through papers. Grantaire would like to think that he seems notably less tense than usual, although he has to admit that he can’t be, like, totally absolutely 200% sure of that, because he’s not usually paying a ton of attention to anything except the weight of Enjolras’ hand resting on him. He even lets Grantaire eat off a dish on the floor next to him, or feeds him by hand if he deserves a treat.

Sometimes Enjolras will let him do some stuff around the house, cook naked or chores or so on, but more often that’s a different kind of scene, and when he has Grantaire like this, he really just wants him to curl up next to him and be petted and be told how good he is. All he demands is Grantaire’s total devotion to him, which is good, because he’s getting that whether he wants it or not (and, in fact, got it for a long, long time before he realized he did want it at all). And also good because it’s really pretty easy for Grantaire to follow through on total unquestioned devotion to Enjolras, even though, generally speaking, he is not famed for his follow-through. 

Luckily, this is something even he can do well.

Only sometimes, of course. His attention span is too short to do it more often than once every few weeks, or something like that. He can’t spend every day on his knees for Enjolras—as nice as that sounds in theory, he would get stir-crazy way too quickly. It’s only some Sundays or something like that, when neither of them has anything too pressing to do (Enjolras has confessed that, although Grantaire in pet-mode does help relax him, he is not exactly an aide in focus for more intellectually complex tasks, because him being there means that Enjolras is always a little distracted by how much he adores having him there like that. 

That is, obviously, nice to hear, but it means that Grantaire is mindful about how often he asks for that as well as not always being in the right headspace for it himself. It’ll never be the only, or even a particularly major part, of their dynamic, but it’s a special one in those times when it’s right for both of them. 

It’s so good to just be like this, intimate and connected and loving and yet also in their very distinct roles. Grantaire doesn’t have to pretend to be anything except what he is. He doesn’t have to worry about anything. He doesn’t have to suffer or endure or anything—he can just be happy and peaceful and content, at Enjolras’ feet, at his side. 

He learns that he can stay in subspace a lot longer than he previously realized, sometimes for four or five hours at a stretch. Not the wild high he sometimes gets after a serious beating or anything like that, but just a pleasant, relaxed, slightly floaty feeling. Time passes in great bursts, like waves, and the world narrows to nothing more than Enjolras beside him, above him, taking care of him, owning him.

He’ll remind Grantaire of this, tugging lightly on his hair and murmuring “mine,” and that’s all it takes for him to float away a little deeper, relaxing even more into it. When it’s time to come back to the real world, he knows that Enjolras will cradle him close until he’s steady again, until he can get back on his feet, but in the meantime, he can be totally free, untethered, unconcerned with the world, precisely because he is bound in place.


	13. day thirteen: distant/distracted sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> making "sexy ignoring" into a widely recognized kink is, like, my life's work
> 
> cw for some pretty intense humiliation play with no onstage negotiation or aftercare, and please accept my personal assurance that Enjolras insisted on both to a totally annoying and excessive degree and that Grantaire is totally aware here that this is just play
> 
> one more chapter coming later today!

“Get down on the ground, on your hands and knees,” Enjolras orders, and then takes out his phone and begins flipping through it.

Grantaire has already obeyed the order by the time he notices that Enjolras isn’t looking at him. He seems to be totally focused on what’s on his phone, so Grantaire lets out a deliberately distracting and high-pitched sort of whine, hoping to make Enjolras look down at him. It works, sort of—Enjolras doesn’t look, but he does speak.

“Take your clothes off, get back in position, and _shut up._ ”

Well, Grantaire loves to do as he’s told. He scrambles to strip and then gets back down on his knees, his bare ass up in the air. And Enjolras is still not looking at him. Not even glancing in his direction, as a matter of fact. 

After what feels like about a million years, but is in reality probably only a minute or two, Enjolras sighs in an exaggerated fashion, nudging Grantaire with the tip of his boot. “Grantaire, I am _busy_. I am _trying_ to answer some very important emails.”

“Sorry?”

“Are you really that desperate for it that you can’t go five minutes without whining and fussing and fucking gagging for it?”  
“Sorry,” Grantaire repeats, which seems the thing to do. And then adds, “Please?”

“Please what?” 

“Please fuck me.”

Enjolras sighs again, as if incredibly exasperated with Grantaire’s outrageously slutty antics. “Really? You can’t control yourself?”

“No. I’m sorry.”

“All right, then. Here.” He tosses the lube at Grantaire, because, of course, he’s actually totally prepared for this and at least as into it as Grantaire is, if not more so. But he’s trying to hide it and the humiliation of the lube hitting him casually like that really helps sell that illusion, that he’s only doing this because Grantaire is so desperate, so needy, that he can hardly be bothered with fucking him. “Get yourself ready for it.”

Grantaire does as he’s told. There’s one kind of humiliation he usually gets, prepping himself, with Enjolras’ burningly intense eyes on him the entire time. But this is something else entirely, something rather more potent. He’s forced to rest his forehead on the floor so he can stay on his knees and reach around behind himself. He wets two fingers with the lube and starts to slide them into himself, and the whole time, he is painfully, consciously aware of the fact that Enjolras _isn’t even looking at him._ He’s on display, naked and exposed and fucking himself, right here at Enjolras’ feet, and Enjolras isn’t even looking up to catch a glimpse of him. That’s how unimportant, how pathetic he is. That’s how absolute his submission is—Enjolras knows he doesn’t even have to glance at him to know that he’s obeying every letter of his orders. 

Fuck, this is getting to his head. Grantaire has been petitioning for sexy ignoring to become an official kink for a long time, because it’s one of his favorites. Some tiny part of him, even as he curves both fingers inside his own ass, opening himself up, is aware that Enjolras is actually as turned on, as into this, as he is, but the act is what he needs, and it’s a wonderfully persuasive one, Enjolras not even glancing at him as he fucks himself, there, on the floor, so utterly debased and desperate. 

“That’s enough,” Enjolras says after about a minute. “You don’t need more than that, not a slut like you.” 

Grantaire stops, takes his fingers out, gets back in position, waits. He knows it won’t be a long time, but it feels like it—he’s too fuzzy-headed to even count the seconds, and so turned on that it’s a little hard to breathe. He’s acutely aware of his own complete nakedness, of the hardness of his bare cock, of the lube dripping slowly out of his open and exposed hole. He feels like a thing, here on the floor, like a toy Enjolras has set aside, waiting to be taken back up and hoping to be made use of. 

Eventually, after much, much too long, the order comes. “Get up, and sit on my cock.”

Enjolras is still typing away at his phone, pretty intently. He’s somehow gotten his pants undone enough that his cock is out, but he’s otherwise clothed. Grantaire crawls over to him, up, and goes to follow the order. Enjolras’ hand shoots out, grabbing him by the waist.

“Face away, and bend over. I don’t want to get distracted looking at you.”

Fuck. Well, there’s nothing for Grantaire to do with the burning rush of arousal from his cock all the way up his body except follow the orders he’s been given, so he carefully kneels on either side of Enjolras’ slim hips, facing obediently away and leaning as far down as he dares, and lowers himself down onto Enjolras’ cock. 

Enjolras seemingly doesn’t react at all, and Grantaire feels him resting his forearms on his back, using him as a table. “Fuck yourself,” he commands, and Grantaire starts to move, slowly rocking up and down. He knows what Enjolras likes when he’s on top—being ridden relatively gently, pampered a little, having it be all about his pleasure. he knows when to tighten and when to release and he does all of that, in silence, with Enjolras still and quiet and apparently still ignoring him even though he’s inside Grantaire in the most intimate position possible. It makes Grantaire feel little and unimportant and humiliated in a way that makes his cock throb so hard he’s a little worried he’s going to come untouched. He doesn’t dare to distract Enjolras by begging for permission, though. He just continues to move, the way he knows he should. Eventually, he feels Enjolras come inside him, letting out the first sound he’s made, a sharp grunt.

“Back on the ground,” Enjolras instructs, and, opened up, used, and ignored, Grantaire obeys.


	14. day fourteen: asphyxiation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: this is the choking chapter. choking is always a very risky kink and there is no way to practice it totally safely. it's done here in a relatively safe way but also this is pornography, not, like, a how-to guide. just fyi! think before u kink

Grantaire stands in place. He has his back to the wall and his hands crossed up above his head. He’s naked (this is becoming a theme) and his eyes are open and trained on Enjolras.

“Ask me for it,” Enjolras says. His tone is sweet, almost gentle, which Grantaire knows is just a set up for all kinds of frightening and wonderful things to come. This scene is a new one for Grantaire—he’s never let another dom do this to him. The idea has always been appealing in theory, but as irresponsible as Grantaire can be, and he can be very irresponsible, he’s never quite been foolish enough to let a stranger do this to him. Enjolras, though, he trusts, of course. And he’s asked for this, he wants it. And he’ll ask for it again.

“Choke me, please.”

“Why do you want me to?” he asks, presumably just to be cruel, but maybe because he wants Grantaire to reassure him, because he’s confessed that he’s pretty nervous about the whole thing. Choking is edgeplay, it’s always dangerous and as careful as the set-up for this scene is he wants a little more certainty that Grantaire also wants it.

“Because I belong to you, all of me. I want you to control me completely. I want you to be able to decide whether or not I’m even allowed to breathe. Please.”

Enjolras shivers visibly at that, clearly turned on, which was Grantaire’s goal, so he feels pretty good about that. “Good. Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to keep your arms up and your eyes open and on me. I’m going to choke you with my hand on your throat. We’ll do five seconds to start and work our way up from there. We won’t go more than thirty all together, not today. And I’ll count for the first one, okay, so you know where I am. Does that all sound okay?”

It sounds great, except that five seconds is hardly anything, but at this point Grantaire knows Enjolras well enough not to try and talk him out of the way he’s set this scene up. He is not known for being extremely persuadable when it comes to Grantaire’s safety or, indeed, anything at all. So he settles for something he knows is completely safe to say. “Yes, please.”

“Very polite. I approve.”

And then Enjolras’ hand is around his throat, which is, frankly, amazing. He immediately has the impulse to suck in a breath, even though he was breathing without any restriction two seconds ago and there shouldn’t be any reason why he particularly needs air, but the fact that he can’t makes him desperately need to breathe, except that he can’t. 

“One,” Enjolras says, and Grantaire almost loses it.

It can’t only be one second. It’s been an hour, at least.

“Two.”

His chest feels delightfully tight and enclosed and he likes and hates it in equal measure.

“Three.”

He starts trying to breathe, opening his mouth and gasping for air, but nothing can make it past the pressure that Enjolras is putting on his throat.

“Four.”

He feels dizzy, which basically has to be psychosomatic, there’s no way he can possibly really be suffering from a lack of oxygen already because it’s only been _four seconds_ and yet the dizziness is very potently real, and then Enjolras finally says,

“Five,” and lets go, and Grantaire’s head spins. He almost doubles over, remembering at the very last instant that he has orders and gets himself back into the position he was instructed to hold. Air rushes into his lungs, making him even dizzier. 

He barely manages to stay on his feet. 

“This time, we’re going for ten,” Enjolras informs him. There’s no chance to argue, not that Grantaire ever would, or would even want to, even though he can’t really imagine enduring a full ten seconds, twice as much as the agonizing five had been. Enjolras’ hand just closes around his throat.

This time, Enjolras kisses him, hard, his tongue plundering Grantaire’s mouth. That means there’s no counting, except in Grantaire’s head, necessary to keep him somewhat aware as the world starts to blur between the pressure of Enjolras’ lips and tongue and the soft fuzziness that creeps in at the edges of his awareness from the lack of oxygen. 

He knows that there is exactly no chance at all that Enjolras would actually choke him enough that he would pass out, or get anywhere close. Ten seconds isn’t enough for any harm at all to come to him. He knows all that. And yet that does exactly nothing for the creeping sensation of intensity, something like panic, except not unpleasant, filling his chest and lungs.

Except that he doesn’t have to worry, he realizes in a bright haze of white clarity, because, though he might not be in control of himself, Enjolras is in control of him. He has given himself over, yielded himself up. His life is in Enjolras’ hands, which is exactly where it belongs.

Enjolras lets go, lets him gasp for air. This time, he leans in close and murmurs into Grantaire’s ear, “How are you doing, sweetheart?”

“So good, sir.” Grantaire bites his lip afterwards. He hadn’t meant to let the title slip out—they haven’t discussed it, and he’s been strangling (haha) the urge to call Enjolras that for, like, months now. Oops.

But Enjolras, luckily, replies only, “Mm. I like that. Ask me for more.”

“Please choke me, sir.”

“Good boy.” Enjolras’ fingers in his hair, Enjolras’ chest pressing against his, Enjolras’ hand around his throat. Grantaire gives himself over to it. It doesn’t matter how long. He doesn’t keep track or anything else, just lets himself fly high in the safety of Enjolras’ control. 

Enjolras is choking him so perfectly, and Grantaire loves it, loves him, loves being his. His vision is slightly hazy, but Enjolras’ shining face is so beautiful, so perfectly and exquisitely clear.


	15. day fifteen: fornophilia

Grantaire is on his hands and knees on the hard floor. He is blindfolded and gagged, but not bound. Only his own willpower keeps him there—that and his determination to do exactly what Enjolras told him, no matter how hard it becomes. 

It’s a difficult position to hold, with his palms and knees digging into the ground painfully, and Enjolras’ feet on his back don’t make it any easier. Enjolras is wearing those heavy-soled leather boots that Grantaire is a little bit obsessed with, and which Grantaire has been trying to convince Enjolras to let him worship, and they are making his back ache and pushing him inexorably down toward the ground. But he has to stay perfectly still—any time he so much as trembles or twitches, Enjolras kicks him, hard. He doesn’t talk to him, though, or reprimand him in any other way than the swift jolt of pain to his side or his back, which Grantaire takes in silence and without breaking his position. Why would he? You don’t talk to the furniture.

He’s not sure how long he’s been serving as Enjolras’ footstool. When he asked for this, he pleaded for Enjolras to make it go on for a long time, not quite enough that it would be impossible for him to be good and stay in place, but enough that it would be a real challenge, that he’d be sore and hurting the next day, and that he’d get into a really deep place.

They’ve been playing more and more intensely lately, especially with humiliation, and Grantaire loves it. It’s probably his biggest kink, and one he’s been afraid to explore with other partners because, well, he’s a depressive who gets bummed out easily when people deliberately make him feel worthless and subhuman. Not when Enjolras does it, though. First of all, he is legitimately so crazy about Enjolras that getting to be his personal footstool feels like something of a privilege, which he can admit as long as it’s only in the privacy of his own mind. Secondly, he actually, for the first time in his life, feels secure about a relationship—he knows that Enjolras loves and cares about him, whatever he says, whatever he does. And finally, all of this is going to end in some deliriously in-depth aftercare, which he knows will leave him feeling soft and sweet and loved and safe. So he doesn’t worry about coming back up from the place he’s going in his mind, and he knows he can dive down there with total safety.

As he’d hoped, time is sliding by him. Sometimes it seems like it’s been a long, long time, and other times, like it’s been only seconds. Sometimes he’s sure he can’t hold the position even a moment longer, the strain in every muscle in his body too much to bear, or sure that if he could just shift a tiny bit he’d be able to relieve the aching in his shoulders or the growing soreness in his knees, but if he ever dares to, Enjolras’ boot is there to correct him, to remind him of his place. Which is, of course, wherever Enjolras wants him to be.

He sinks into the thoughts of being just a thing. He’s degraded and ground down, literally beneath Enjolras’ boots. Enjolras doesn’t look at him or speak to him or acknowledge him, and why would he? Grantaire is nothing more than an object for him to use, however it pleases him to. And Grantaire’s world is so simple. Wait, listen, obey. Do whatever Enjolras orders him to. He doesn’t have to worry, never has to guess at anything. If he is less than perfect, punishment will be swift, immediate, and painful, and once he endures it, forgiveness will be absolute. He wishes life could always be so easy.

And what could be a simpler, purer form of submission than this? It’s painful, slowly becoming unbearable, to hold this position. It’s degrading and shameful, naked and on his knees, being used as an object. And yet his pain, his shame, serve directly to make Enjolras’ life a little bit easier, to give him somewhere pleasant to rest. 

He’s trembling finely all over, his muscles too exhausted to hold still, but he’s careful not to move otherwise, not to disturb Enjolras’ feet resting on him. It doesn’t matter how badly his body hurts, how his arms are cramping, how his knees are grinding into the ground. All that matters is following Enjolras’ orders. 

Suddenly, the pressure on his back becomes more intense, painfully shoving him flat. He tries for a second to maintain the position, but he can’t, and gratefully collapses when he hears Enjolras’ voice, “You can fall now. It’s okay.”

He lies there, immobile against the ground. He doesn’t worry or even wonder about what’s coming next. That’s up to Enjolras, and Grantaire will happily accept whatever it is. 

It turns out that what comes next is Enjolras’ warm body snuggled up behind him and his strong arms wrapping around Grantaire’s waist. Grantaire’s arms and legs are cramping as he starts to get the feeling back in his limbs, but none of that matters, not when Enjolras is right here. He undoes the gag and the blindfold and goes right back to holding Grantaire close.

“You were so amazing, ‘Aire. You’re so strong, so good for me. You’re perfect.”

Mm, that’s nice. Grantaire curls back against Enjolras, hoping to be held closer. And he gets exactly what he wanted, plus Enjolras’ lips in his hair. 

“I can’t believe how long you made it.”

“How long?” Grantaire says, realizing his throat is dry.

“Ninety minutes. I had expected you to fall sooner, but I had to call it—you were shaking everywhere but you kept going. You’re incredible.”

“Love you, sir.”

“I love you too. We’ll get you cleaned up in a minute, okay?”

“‘Kay,” Grantaire mumbles, and promptly falls asleep in Enjolras’ arms.


	16. day sixteen: body worship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's late! gonna try to catch up today but no promises

For the most part, Grantaire definitely has the easy job in this game they play together so extensively. He just has to take whatever Enjolras deems fit to give him. Enjolras is the one who has to plan the plans, give the instructions, worry about what happens if things go wrong, make sure that Grantaire is doing okay (sometimes several times over the course of just one scene), take care of him afterwards, and generally do all the hard stuff. Sometimes, though, Enjolras lets, or requires, Grantaire to be the one to take the lead. Enjolras is still in charge, of course—Grantaire tries to be accommodating, but “no switching” is a pretty unbendable rule of his, and luckily Enjolras has never seemed to have any interest in Grantaire topping. Sometimes, though, he’ll make him take some small measure of control. For instance, tonight.

Not that Grantaire wouldn’t have enthusiastically agreed to this, in fact, begged for it, if anyone had asked him. But, in delightfully typical fashion, Enjolras had not required his opinion on the matter. He’d just informed him what he would be doing, and all he had to do was obey. Even when Enjolras isn’t as completely physically in control, he’s still the one making all the decisions, which is the only thing Grantaire wants. The only thing he needs, for a scene to be wonderful, is to know that he’s doing what Enjolras wants. And Enjolras never lets him fail, no matter how much leeway he gives him. It’s a good cycle.

“I want you to worship me tonight,” Enjolras said, and Grantaire had managed to restrain himself (through a truly heroic effort) from pointing out that he actually worships Enjolras all the time, and simply said, “Yes, sir.”

Enjolras had kissed him and told him to take his clothes off and meet him in the bathroom, where he is presently giving Enjolras what is hopefully the most relaxing and thorough bath of his entire life. There are various kinds of scented bubble baths and different soaps for every square inch of Enjolras’ skin and all kinds of implements. Grantaire starts with his feet and works his way up, always sure to handle him with gentle and reverent care. It’s what Enjolras asked for, of course, and what he deserves. To be worshipped. 

Grantaire pumices his feet and rubs lotion into the calluses. He lathers Enjolras’ long, slender legs and pours warm water over them until it runs away clear. He runs his hands along the perfectly sculpted expanse of Enjolras’ chest. Reverently, carefully, he washes his long, blond hair, digging his fingers into Enjolras’ scalp again and again until he lets out a slow sigh. “That’s nice.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Come here.”

Grantaire obeys, of course, and is rewarded with one wet hand pulling him in close for a kiss. 

When he’s been released, and he’s satisfied that Enjolras is satisfactorily bathed, he fetches a towel. He kneels at Enjolras’ feet and offers it up, unfolding him in it and slowly patting him dry. 

“Follow,” Enjolras commands, and Grantaire crawls after him, to their bedroom. Enjolras, without another word, sprawls out on his stomach, legs and arms akimbo, his damp head haloed around him on the pillow. Grantaire can take a hint, and so he goes into the bedside table and withdraws Enjolras’ favorite lotion. He begins with long, slow strokes across his back and into his lower body, and then starts in on the tangled web of knots across Enjolras’ shoulders. For all the stress-relieving impact Grantaire may be having in Enjolras’ life—and Enjolras is always telling him it’s significant—Enjolras is still one of the most physically tense people Grantaire has ever met. He carries it all in his shoulders and his ass, too. 

Enjolras lets out a profoundly erotic moan as Grantaire digs the tips of his fingers hard into the bunched muscles at the base of his neck. He holds there, counting in his head, until he begins to feel Enjolras release. The warm bath helped, too, because before long Enjolras’ muscles are melting like putty in his hands. He straddles Enjolras’ back, one leg on either side of him, so he can press down with his elbows into the worst spots on Enjolras’ back, and then relieves the just-painful pressure with a feather-light kiss. 

He works his way down, down, to Enjolras’ ass, which, in addition to being one of the greatest glories of human anatomy, is also where he stores most of the tension generated by being one of the only sources of good in this cruel and unfeeling world. One hard press of Grantaire’s palms makes him sigh, another makes him groan. 

“Keep going,” Enjolras says. Grantaire kisses the top of his spine, the nape of his neck, the dimple above his ass.

“Yes, sir,” he says, pushing his hand into one stubborn knot. Enjolras sighs again, letting his legs fall open a little wider as Grantaire bares down on the muscle. Grantaire can just see his hard cock, which makes him shiver pleasantly. He’s doing exactly what he should be. Making Enjolras feel good.

He’s hoping it’ll turn explicitly sexual later, maybe even with him being allowed to fuck Enjolras (which happens every once in a blue moon, and usually when Enjolras is in a lazy, decadent mood like this), but for now he’s just enjoying the opportunity to touch Enjolras as much as he wants. So often he is bound or restrained, by chains or ropes or just orders. And he’s certainly not complaining about that, but it’s a rare and precious chance he has right now, to touch Enjolras’ perfect body as much as he wants, to show Enjolras every single aspect of his devotion. For now, he’ll focus on touching Enjolras anywhere and everywhere, on making him feel as good as he deserves to, on showing his devotion. Enjolras shivers beneath his hands and, reverently, Grantaire bends to kiss him.


	17. day seventeen: collaring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> additional notes for this time: full on BDSM schmoop with total romanticization of power exchange symbols and no realism whatsoever, some Master/slave undertones which i know are a problem for some people and will be present in the fic from here on out, fluff?
> 
> i promise there will be dicks next time

They’ve talked about this for a long time, from that initial conversation, actually. Grantaire had been clear as he’s rarely able to be about anything involving standing up for himself. He wants it, has always wanted it, but he didn’t want to let that change how much it means to him. For him, it’s the ultimate signal of commitment, hopefully one that will last a lifetime. It signifies love and trust and belonging, in addition to all the kinky connotations. When he was first involved in the scene, someone told him it was like a wedding ring, and he still believes that, even though he knows that’s not how most people use it. It’s what it means to him.

Enjolras had understood completely, and even agreed. He’d never used one in play, never intended to make what is such an important, almost sacred, symbol for Grantaire into a mere accessory for sex. Nor had he rushed them into this—as firm as he could be about encouraging Grantaire to get over his issues and _commit,_ he’d never want him to do this if he weren’t ready.

Well, he’s ready. They both are. They’ve been dating for almost two years now, living together for six months. There’s been vague talk of marriage (mostly from Marius, who is, like, really into wedding planning now that he and Cosette are happily married, but a little bit from Enjolras and Grantaire themselves), and their kink life couldn’t be happier. They’re so compatible it’s sometimes difficult to remember that they occasionally have to get out of bed, and Grantaire has never been more secure or happier in himself, in his submission, in his life.

He was the one to bring it up to Enjolras, who agreed quickly. Enjolras, by mutual agreement, was the one to actually design and order it, though apparently he got some recommendations, style-wise, from Courfeyrac (which Grantaire appreciates. Aesthetics are one of Enjolras’ very few weak points). And now it’s arrived, and they’re ready.

The ceremony is simple and private. Although their friends know about this aspect of their lives, Grantaire doesn’t want anyone to see him like this but Enjolras, and Enjolras is much too protective of Grantaire to invite guests. So it’s just the two of them, at home. Enjolras has lit candles for the occasion, and is wearing his red leather jacket, shiny black leather boots, and slim-fitting jeans that accentuate every curve of his legs and ass. His golden hair tumbles loose around his shoulders.

Grantaire approaches and, at the slightest gesture of Enjolras’ hand, kneels at his feet. He is completely naked, shaven bare from the neck down, totally exposed before Enjolras. Enjolras doesn’t touch him, but he does look at him, from top to bottom, a single sweeping glance that reminds Grantaire that he is completely seen, totally understood.

And then Enjolras opens the simple black velvet box he’s been holding and reveals the collar.

It’s a thin strip of delicate red leather, no wider than one of Grantaire’s fingers. In front is a small white gold o-ring, off which a simple tag hangs. In the front, where people will be able to see it, it’s just engraved with a large R, for Grantaire’s name. But, Enjolras shows, carefully flipping it over, on the back, where no one but the two of them is likely to ever see, the words are smaller, more intricate, and much more meaningful.

“Beloved property of Enjolras.”

Grantaire feels tears spark in his eyes, and bows his head. Enjolras’ cool, gentle fingers tuck under his chin and lift him up, making him meet his eyes.

“Well?”

“It’s so beautiful, sir.”

Enjolras smiles, letting a little bit of his nervousness show. The plan is for Grantaire to wear it all the time—he works mostly doing freelance art commissions these days, so he can basically wear whatever he wants unless he’s at a gallery showing, and then a suit will hide it. But that means it’s not just the commitment to Enjolras, but the material object itself, and obviously he cared a lot about getting it right. 

“It’s perfect.”

“You’re perfect,” Enjolras replies. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Grantaire,” he begins, and then swallows hard. “Grantaire, today I want to offer you this collar. If you accept it, it will serve as a symbol of my protection, care, and love for you. As long as you wear it, you are mine, and I swear to always respect the gift of your submission, to cherish you in every way I can, and to treasure your presence in my life.”

Grantaire knows it’s his turn to talk, but there’s a lump in his throat that makes it difficult to speak, and his mind is going blank of all his carefully practiced words. He feels some need to match Enjolras’ eloquence, though, so he manages, “I am honored to accept the gift of your collar and the dominance it represents. For as long as I wear it, it will serve as a symbol of my obedience, devotion, and love for you. I am yours.”

His hands shaking imperceptibly, Enjolras sets the box to one side and withdraws the collar. Carefully, he fastens it around the base of Grantaire’s throat, reaching behind him to latch the back. It’s light and slim-fitting, and Grantaire feels only the slightest of pressures, but he knows it’s there. More than that, he knows he’ll never be able to forget its presence. It’ll be with him every moment, a constant reminder of Enjolras’ ownership and love.

An insistent tug at the collar makes him look up and into Enjolras’ tear-filled eyes. “Come here,” Enjolras orders, pulling Grantaire into a long, demanding kiss. “I love you so much, my perfect ‘Aire.”

“I love you too, Master,” Grantaire says, the words he’s been waiting to be able to say for so, so long. Enjolras kisses him again, both hands around his collar, and Grantaire is perfectly happy.


	18. day eighteen: fucking machine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't know how fucking machines work

Grantaire is really regretting his decision to give Enjolras a fucking machine. Not really regretting, of course. He knows that he’ll ultimately end up enjoying himself. It’s just that, from his exact current position of bent over and tied up, things aren’t looking so rosy.

He’d been pretty proud that he managed to make the thing. Engineering isn’t technically one of his skills, but he’s good with his hands in all kinds of ways and it wasn’t too difficult to figure out how to make an adjustable motor that could increase the speed at which a lever thrusts. From there, he just had to build the frame and attach the dildo. It was all surprisingly easy. He’d wanted to do something to celebrate the collaring, and it’s not like Enjolras appreciated material gifts all that much. This seemed like a good solution—something tangible, but also something Grantaire had made for him.

And, okay, he should have expected this next part, but Enjolras had thanked him politely and then immediately stripped him down and tied him to the damn thing. His legs are tied to the legs of the stand, spread uncomfortably wide so that he’s entirely exposed. Another rope wraps around his middle, forcing him to stay bent over so that he can’t move or get any friction on his cock. His arms are bound tight in a reverse prayer position behind his back, and his another rope loops through his collar, tying it back behind him to each side of the fucking machine so that he’s effectively immobilized. He’s also gagged with the largest ball gag they own, the one that strains his jaw painfully and makes his teeth ache. The position is uncomfortable, putting particular strain on his thighs and chest, and extremely humiliating. He’s ass-up in the air, his legs forced open so that he knows his hole must be on display, his face down by his feet. It’s objectification in the purest sense.

Enjolras doesn’t give him any warning or warmup before squirting a copious amount of cold lube across his ass. It drips down, leaving Grantaire conscious of how helpless he is to stop it. Enjolras trails what feels like two fingers through the lube and pushes it up inside Grantaire, ignoring his grunt of surprise. He fucks Grantaire with his fingers for maybe a minute, quickly and with no particular care. When he decides Grantaire is ready, he pulls out, wiping his fingers clean on Grantaire’s back. 

Grantaire hears him shift the fucking machine into place behind him and then inside him. The dildo slides into him slowly, barely moving. 

“I’m going to turn this on to the lowest setting,” Enjolras explains. “I’m going to watch while this machine fucks you until you come, and then I’m going to turn it up. One notch at a time. I want to see what every setting does, you see. It’s such a generous gift, I’ve got to test it out.”

The fucking machine has six speeds, because Grantaire was showing off. He’s never come six times in a single scene before—five is his record, and that was with Enjolras sucking him off for the last two, and doing all kinds of touching for the others. He could still hardly bare it.

“Obviously, I’m not going to touch you otherwise. It’s all about how well the machine works. A useful invention, really. Since you need to be fucked all the time, don’t you? This way I can keep you filled up the way you always need to be.”

Okay, if Enjolras keeps talking like that, this might be less impossible than it seems. The vision flashes through Grantaire’s mind like lightning, himself tied up just like this, helpless and exposed and objectified, becoming part of the machine, part of a display for Enjolras’ pleasure, eternally speared on the end of a fake cock, always fucked, forever used. He knows it’s impossible but he wants it nonetheless. His drive for submission seems to be endless. 

“Have fun, slut,” Enjolras says, and the machine whirs to life. The dildo begins to slide backwards, out of Grantaire’s body, barely moving. And then just as slowly back into him. It’s hard and huge and he’s not really prepped, and though the pace is gentle he’s aware of the machine’s relentlessness. He’s helpless, tied up here, and the machine is going to fuck him for as long as Enjolras wants. He can’t do anything about it. 

He hears the scrape of the chair on the floor as Enjolras settles into it, presumably getting ready to watch him suffer for his amusement. He wonders what he looks like bent over like this, the dildo slowly moving in and out of him, his body forced to take it. 

He feels himself drift away, relaxing into the bonds both literally and metaphorically. He can’t get away from this, and he has to accept it, accept his place, accept Enjolras’ control over him. 

It’s going to be hard to come at first, because there’s nothing touching his cock and the dildo is moving in him so slowly. Then, later, it will be agonizing, as he’s incredibly sensitive and sore. But that doesn’t matter—he has as long as he needs.

The stimulation of the dildo is slight, but it’s also constant, rubbing over the exact same places inside of him, the same sensitive spot on his rim, with every single thrust. Eventually, it builds, and he lets it. He has permission, after all, to come around this fake cock, and so he does, spurting out over his thighs and stomach. He tries to cry out, but the gag in his mouth stops him, and he thrusts his hips but goes nowhere, the ropes holding him back. 

Enjolras says nothing, doesn’t clean him off, doesn’t touch him, but he must approach, because Grantaire hears a click and the dildo begins to move in and out of him a little faster. Five more to go.


	19. day nineteen: cock-warming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i looked forward to this one so much and now i kinda hate what i've written but oh well

Enjolras has been so much more willing to play with humiliation and service since the collaring, which is amazing. Grantaire supposes it’s because they’re committed to each other at a new, deeper level. For any reason, it’s his favorite thing ever. 

Their whole relationship has changed—they’re still devoted to each other as partners, they still care about each other, they’re still in love. But Grantaire is also falling more and more into his role as Enjolras’ submissive, and Enjolras is accepting the many possibilities of being Grantaire’s master. It’s not just something they limit to scenes and sex anymore. It’s part of their everyday life, and it’s brilliant. 

Enjolras keeps him naked most of the time they’re at home now, except for his collar. Grantaire is allowed to kneel at his feet while they watch TV, or read, or just hang out. Sometimes, when they’re eating dinner together, Enjolras will feed him by hand. He gets to call Enjolras ‘Master’ whenever he wants, and Enjolras will call him his pet or his sweet boy. And of course, he’s always wearing Enjolras’ collar around his throat.

Those are just a few awesome developments, but Grantaire’s favorite is probably the increased amount of time he gets to spend with his mouth on Enjolras’ cock. Now, Grantaire has always been able to spend a significant (if never satisfactory) percentage of time sucking Enjolras off, but he pretty much loves being on his knees for Enjolras in any capacity, and really, really loves getting his mouth on Enjolras, and man cannot live on blowjobs alone. 

So recently, Enjolras has taken to using him as a cockwarmer. It’s Grantaire’s new favorite hobby. They’ve been doing every few days, for a few minutes or a few hours, Grantaire on his knees, warming Enjolras’ cock for him. 

That’s what Enjolras calls it, anyway, maybe to watch Grantaire flush and stammer and feel ashamed at the filthy term. When he does, Enjolras always explains, “Well, that’s what you’re for, isn’t it? Keeping my cock nice and warm?”

“Yes, Master.”

“You can’t expect to get fucked all the time. Sometimes I’m busy with more important things, but I’ll find a use for you anyway.”

“You’re very creative that way.”

Enjolras laughs, and pushes Grantaire down to his knees. He has Grantaire crawl after him to his study. Enjolras makes himself comfortable in the chair while ordering Grantaire into position—on his knees, hands behind his back, head bent, mouth open. Enjolras undoes his pants casually. “Go on,” he orders. “Get to work.” His soft cock hangs there, lovely and vulnerable and soft, and carefully, reverently, Grantaire leans forward and takes it into his mouth.

He has to hang his jaw all the way open for this, uncomfortably far so that his mouth starts to ache, because he would never dare to let his teeth brush against Enjolras. He has to make sure every touch is soft and warm and perfect. 

Enjolras will let him stay here for hours sometimes. When he starts to get hard, he’ll grab hold of Grantaire’s hair and fuck his face hard until he comes, and then let him settle back into this peaceful kneeling. It’s hard to breathe through his nose for so long, and his mouth gets dry, and he fears he’ll smell come for the rest of his life, and his knees ache, and his jaw hurts for days afterwards. It’s glorious. He hopes it’ll happen today, that Enjolras will make thorough and extended use of him.

Enjolras pushes his chair forward, and Grantaire has to tilt his chest back to stay out of his way. He’s not allowed to lean on Enjolras’ legs—that would be distracting. His hands stay behind his back, too, in just the position he was ordered to keep them in. He’s going to be a good cockwarmer for Enjolras, a pleasing place for him to rest his cock until he wants to be worshipped more thoroughly. And Grantaire is so glad to be that place, to be put in his place. He’s nothing but a mouth, hanging wet and open and warm around Enjolras. He’s a toy, a thing, a cockwarmer. 

Grantaire realizes casually that he’s quite hard. He usually is, when they do this. Sometimes Enjolras will mock him for it, but more often he ignores it, as he’s currently ignoring Grantaire altogether.

Enjolras is typing away above him—they’ve played with scenes where Enjolras ignores him before, but this is different. Enjolras really is working on other things, really is ignoring Grantaire except to occasionally nudge him with his foot into a different position, grab his hair and change the way his mouth is resting on Enjolras’ cock, or say something delightfully cruel to him.

For example, right now he’s saying, “I love using you like this. Knowing that you’re just a toy to please me. This is where you belong, isn’t it, on your knees, mindlessly suffering for me.”

Grantaire’s jaw twinges painfully, but he doesn’t move. He’s right where he belongs, just as Enjolras says. 

He doesn’t get to know what Enjolras is doing, how long it’s been or how much longer he has to hold this position. He’ll stay as long as Enjolras wants him here, and that’s all there is to it. 

Enjolras goes back to work, paying no attention to Grantaire, and that lets him drift freely through his thoughts. As uncomfortable as the position is, he feels peaceful, safe. He knows that he’s under Enjolras’ control and care, which is exactly where he always wants to be. Enjolras’ place in his life gives him purpose, gives him shape, gives him something to do. If his role is as his cockwarmer, he’s grateful for it, grateful for the chance to _show_ his gratitude like this, on his knees and at Enjolras’ feet. He feels Enjolras’ cock lying heavy on his tongue, tastes sweat and Enjolras’ own taste, and closes his eyes. He is so lucky to be his. 


	20. day twenty: dirty talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we now enter the "every chapter is about verbal humiliation" phase of this fic

Grantaire has had a really bad day. He just woke up not quite feeling well, and it was supposed to be his day off, and he’s basically wasted the whole day moping around in bed feeling kinda dizzy and kinda sorry for himself and just, in general, not quite _right._ Luckily, he has a way of dealing with all that now. He has Enjolras. 

And they have rules, which is amazing, because he doesn’t have to worry about bothering Enjolras or anything. He knows he’s allowed, actually, required to do this.

He goes into Enjolras’ study, where he’s working, and kneels quietly beside him. He waits, already feeling a little more peaceful as he drops his head down, folds his hands behind his back, and breathes steadily.

Enjolras finishes the sentence he’s typing and turns to Grantaire. “Do you need something, pet?”

“Yes, Master.” It’s so easy now, now that he knows exactly what to do, knows exactly what Enjolras wants. He just has to say the words.

“What do you need?”

“I don’t… I don’t know what to do with myself. Will you take over, please? Be, um, mean to me. Take me all the way down.”

Enjolras’ hand in his hair is a gentle caress. “Of course. Thank you for asking.”

“Thank you, Master,” he says, and it’s the last he has to speak. Enjolras gestures at Grantaire to follow him to the bedroom, where he immediately gags him with a small, comfortable spreader gag, so his lips are pulled apart and he can’t make any sound except helpless, incoherent noises. He feels more relaxed almost at once, knowing that there’s one less thing he has to worry about. Next Enjolras pulls him to his feet and undresses him. 

“Hands behind your back, and look at me.”

Enjolras’ eyes are shining as he looks up and down Grantaire’s exposed body.

“You are so perfect. You’re always ready to serve me, aren’t you?”

Of course, Grantaire can’t answer, but that’s not important. Enjolras knows the answer without having to say it. Yes, yes, Grantaire is ready.

“There’s my good boy. Such a beautiful body, and it’s all mine to play with however I want. How did I ever get so lucky?”

Obviously, Grantaire is the lucky one in this relationship, but the nice thing about being gagged is that Grantaire literally can’t express that, so he just keeps his mouth shut (well, open) and lets Enjolras continue.

“Here.” Enjolras lies back on the bed, spreading his legs. “You can suck my cock, pet. And I’m going to keep talking, okay? Tell you everything you need to hear.”

Oh, Enjolras is so good to him. Going down on Enjolras is easily one of his favorite activities, and it’s pretty much guaranteed to make everything fly out of his head except how much he loves submitting to Enjolras and pleasing him. Sucking his cock with his mouth held open by the gag, now, that’s even better. It makes him into even more of a toy for Enjolras to use, keeps him available and exposed, takes away any hint of control he might have had over the situation.

Enjolras’ hand is in his hair, pushing him downward, not stopping until Grantaire gags slightly. Then he holds him there, not letting him up, and orders, “Suck my cock. Yes, like that. Let me use you, sweetheart, let me take you just like this.”

Grantaire whimpers softly around the obstruction in his mouth and does what he’s told, sucking as hard as he can.

“God, you’re so good at this. You were made to be used like this, weren’t you? You were made to be my fucktoy, my good little slut, getting fucked however I want, whenever I want. That’s all you are, a few sweet holes for me to slide my cock in and out of, a body for me to hurt, a slave to serve me. Isn’t that right?”

Yes, yes it is. That’s all he has to be. All his worry is gone, forgotten, because he doesn’t need to trouble himself about anything except belonging to Enjolras. He’s a good boy, a good slave, for Enjolras, and that’s all he needs to be. 

Enjolras tugs at his hair, pulling him up a bit so he can breathe. Drool and precome run down his chin but none of that matters. He lets out a desperate whine, eager to be pushed back down, put in his place. 

Enjolras laughs a little, fondly. “Oh, you want something, whore?”

He repeats the sound, unable even to beg with the gag holding his mouth open.

“What do you want?”

He tries to push his head downward, not caring that it tugs at his hair painfully, straining to get Enjolras’ cock back into his mouth. Enjolras yanks his hair back, forcing him up.

“You want to choke on my cock?”

He nods as much as Enjolras’ vicious grip on his hair will allow.

“You want me to force your head all the way down, your mouth bound open? You want me to fuck your throat, not stopping if you gag or retch or choke, not caring if it hurts you, just using your mouth for my pleasure? You want me to come in your mouth and make you swallow it all like the desperate cumslut you are?”

Grantaire lets out a strangled moan, as close to a plea as he can around the gag, and Enjolras does just what he’d promised. His hands are tight and painful in Grantaire’s hair as he forces his head all the way down, so his cock is lodged in Grantaire’s mouth to the root. Grantaire chokes and Enjolras doesn’t stop, just stays there, buried all the way inside him, ignoring the whimpering, gasping noises Grantaire lets out as he starts to suck Enjolras. There are tears leaking steadily from his eyes. He is so happy.

“That’s my good pet,” Enjolras tells him, with another vicious thrust. “Always so good for me.”


	21. day twenty-one: branding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the branding chapter! it's the kink on the list that inspired me to start this crazy project. i hope y'all enjoy.
> 
> cw: there is literal branding in this chapter, and heavy ownership/slavery undertones. if that's not for you, skip this!

Grantaire is really annoyed about two things.

First, he had asked to be tied up for this, but Enjolras had refused. His consent was too vital, and too fragile, here. If he flinched away, even for a moment, Enjolras would know to stop. So he’s got nothing but his own willpower (not famously effective) to hold him in place for what he’s been assured will be one of the most painful experiences of his life. 

Second, Enjolras had talked to Combeferre about it. He’d gotten Grantaire’s permission first, of course, and intellectually Grantaire knows it isn’t exactly the kind of thing that will remain private over the long term, since the whole point is that it’s going to leave a great big visible permanent mark on him. But still, he likes to keep this just between the two of them. Enjolras, however, had been quite firm that he wasn’t doing anything this dangerous without discussing it with an actual medical doctor. Combeferre, since he is calm and nonjudgmental and wouldn’t call the cops on them for this crazy idea, is their best pick, though Enjolras had offered to visit another doctor, one neither of them knew. Grantaire supposes he should be glad that he had, though, because Combeferre had told Enjolras several important things, perhaps the most important being that it should be perfectly safe as long they follow some simple safety precautions. He’d even said it was okay to use a literal branding iron, as featured heavily in several of Grantaire’s most shameful and forbidden-feeling fantasies. So, although the fact that the conversation had taken place was pretty humiliating, and not in a fun sexy way, it’s probably the whole reason Enjolras agreed to do this. 

Not that he’s totally convinced, of course. 

“You’re _sure_ you’re sure?”

“Yes, Master,” Grantaire says, careful to sound fond and reassuring rather than vaguely annoyed (although that is how he’s feeling).

“Because there’s no going back from this.”

“That’s the whole idea.” Whoops, that was sarcasm. “I promise, I want it. But if you’re not sure, I promise, you won’t offend me. I get that this is a huge thing to do to someone else.” The thought of it happening is such a huge rush, emotionally, psychologically, sexually, but he always imagined it would stay a fantasy. “We’ve already done so many things I thought I’d never trust anyone else enough to do. We don’t have to do this.”

“You’re so amazing, ‘Aire. How did I get so lucky?” 

“I could say the same.”

Enjolras kisses him, softly and thoroughly, and then reaches for Grantaire’s shirt. He lets him keep his pants on, since it’s January and they have to open all the windows in the apartment because, apparently, it’s going to smell pretty awful. Enjolras leans forward, two fingers gently brushing the smooth patch of skin on the left side of his chest, just over his heart. “Incredible,” he says softly. “This is the last time I’ll see it unmarked.”

Grantaire’s heart skips a beat, as Enjolras presses his lips against the skin. 

And then he goes to get the supplies. 

Enjolras being Enjolras, he’d laid everything out in advance. He ordered the iron from the internet—a simple design, which heals best, just a capital E in a circle. It’s a fancy type that heats itself up, which is supposed to be safer and give more control over the exact temperature. Apparently it’s mostly used by people doing body modification, like tattoo shops. Enjolras turns it on, letting it heat to the right temperature, and then uses a pre-portioned sterile wipe to clean off Grantaire’s skin, and then puts his gloves on. 

Grantaire is aware that the actual branding process is not going to be sexy, per se. In his fantasies it always involves being strapped down and having the hot iron shoved against his skin while he screams, but that’s not safe or realistic. This isn’t really a scene—he’s not even slightly in subspace, because he knows that he has to be ready to stop Enjolras if anything feels the slightest bit wrong. It’s the aftermath he’s looking forward to, both the months of care that Enjolras is determined to provide himself, and the permanent mark that will serve like a less-removable version of his collar. 

But first, the pain. He’s trembling slightly, and takes a deep breath to calm himself. He knows it will hurt badly, but not for long. 

And then Enjolras is picking up the brand. “This is ready,” he says. “Are you?”

“Yes.”

“Ask me for it.”

Okay, that’s a little sexy and dominant, the commanding way he says that. Grantaire can get behind that. “Please brand me, Master.”

“Why?”

Grantaire swallows around the lump building in his throat. “I want to be marked as yours, forever. I want it seared into my skin that I belong to you. Please.”

“Good. Hold still,” Enjolras says, and presses the brand into his chest. 

Through the dizzying wave of white-hot pain, Grantaire recognizes that it’s not as bad as he expected. Some of his nerves must be burnt out by the brand. And, as he expected, it’s only a second that he has to stay, still, smelling his own searing flesh, until Enjolras pulls the brand away and drops it into the metal bucket of ice water behind him. 

“How are you feeling, love?”

“Aaaah,” Grantaire responds, incoherently, glancing down. He can’t see the mark, so Enjolras holds up a mirror. Right now it’s just an angry red welt, but he can see the shape of Enjolras’ initial beginning to form around the swelling. 

“I need to bandage this up so air can’t get at the wound and stop it scarring properly,” Enjolras explains, reaching for the cling wrap. “And then I’ll put you to bed, and you can rest.” Grantaire does feel exhausted, but also peaceful, a little light-headed, very happy.

“Thank you,” Grantaire says, through tears of pain and devotion.


	22. day twenty-two: impact play

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter contains explicit ongoing consent but also intense painplay that one partner is not really enjoying (at least from a masochism perspective), also m/s roleplay

Enjolras selected a particularly challenging and humiliating position for Grantaire to hold during this beating. He started by bending Grantaire over and tying his collar to a hook on the ground, making him strain up onto his toes to reach. He ties him tightly, no slack at all, so that he can’t relax his feet onto the floor. His arms are crossed in front of them and tied to each other, straightjacket-style. Another rope is criss-crossed around his lower back, forming a sort of corset that constricts his breathing slightly and forces him to straighten his torso. Then Enjolras bound his ankles, affixing them to the floor, too, so he’s up on his toes with his legs spread as far apart as they’ll go, his head bowed low and face pressed to the ground, his genitals and ass completely exposed and unprotected. His cock and balls are tied up, too, forcing him to stay hard no matter what. Not that he wouldn’t be anyway, in his position. He’s vulnerable and objectified like this, and now Enjolras is going to hurt him.

“Do you know why I’m doing this to you?” Enjolras asks, his voice calm. This isn’t one of those scenes where Grantaire gets the benefit of a gag—no, this is time for audience participation. 

“Punishment, Master?” he tries, although he’s not sure. It’s not like they’d discussed it in advance, Enjolras had just announced he was going to tie Grantaire up and beat him.

“And what have you done, to deserve punishment?”

Grantaire would shrug, except that his position does not allow for it. Instead, he says, “I’m sure there’s something, Master.”

Enjolras laughs a little, running one hand possessively across Grantaire’s bare, straining flank. “No, my love. You’ve been perfect. I’m glad I asked, though, because it’s important for you to understand.”

“Master?”

“I’m just hurting you because I want to, you see.”

Oh. Grantaire shivers in his bonds. 

“You’re mine, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Of course you are. Collared and branded and so obedient. I can fuck you however I want, treat you however I want, hurt you however I want. And tonight I’m going to hurt you quite a lot.”

Grantaire is slowly melting with anticipation, though the position he’s in wrenches all his muscles tight. Physically and mentally, because of the bonds and because of what he is, he’s helpless to resist Enjolras, no matter what he intends to inflict on him. 

“What’s the safeword, ‘Aire?”

That makes him a little nervous. It’s been a long time since Enjolras felt the need to preface a scene with that. “Yellow to break, red to stop.”

“What happens if you use it?”

“You’ll be glad I did,” Grantaire recites. He knows it’s the truth, even though he’s yet to ever have to actually do so—Enjolras can usually tell when he needs to stop 

The first blow lands, right across the exposed soles of his feet, with no warning whatsoever. It feels like a hot stripe of fire against his skin, and, with Grantaire unable to twitch to relieve the pain, it settles in, building steadily into a throb. “Wh…wh…” he mumbles, dumbfounded, and another blow lands, this time along his back. 

Enjolras continues to beat him, working into a steady rhythm. It’s hard to understand what he’s saying as Grantaire’s mind melts beneath the agony, but he tries. “I bought this new cane. Do you like it?”

“No, Master,” Grantaire manages between whimpers, and Enjolras laughs again.

“Good. Is this about you? Is this about what you want?” And Enjolras isn’t stopping, even as he speaks calmly. The cane just keeps landing, unyielding and unbending, forcing pain deep into Grantaire’s skin.

“No, Master.” He’s nothing except Enjolras’ toy, ready to serve his whims, to endure this pain for him.

“That’s right. It’s all about me. And what I want is to hurt you. I want to make you cry, I want to make you beg and sob, I want to make you desperate for relief that isn’t coming.”

Well, Grantaire loves to give Enjolras what he wants.

Enjolras canes him with a steady hand, bringing the cane down again and again and again. He’ll focus on one area for a little while, like the back of one of Grantaire’s thighs, letting the pain build from burning heat to sharp, icy agony, and then switch, bringing it down twice as hard on some previously unmarked area of flesh. For once, he’s not holding back any of his strength. He must be drawing blood with some of the strokes, and Grantaire will undoubtedly be covered in welts for days. He can’t feel that, but he can feel the tears and snot covering his face, which he has no way to stop as he’s bound, face-down. He can’t do anything except take the unrelenting pain, except yield to Enjolras’ desire. 

He feels the cane tap, but not strike, insistently at his inner thighs, and then up just a little, brushing his swollen balls. 

“No, please,” he sobs, fear breaking through the agonized whiteness of his mind. Enjolras can’t hit him there, not with the cane. It’s too much for him to take. He won’t be able to bear it.

Enjolras gently brushes the length of his cock with the cane. “Who does this belong to?”

“You, Master,” he manages, through gasping breath and heavy tears.

“This cock is my property, is that right?”

“Yes, Master.”

“So what do you say if I want to cane you, right here?” Now the cane is tapping insistently at the head of Grantaire’s leaking, bound cock. 

Grantaire takes a deep breath. He knows the answer, but he doesn’t know if he can bear to say it. He knows he could stop this with a word and there would be tears and tenderness and no more pain. But he also knows that he made his choice, that he is Enjolras’, existing to please him however Enjolras chooses. “Please, Master.”


	23. day twenty-three: master/slave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a little relationship-y chapter, not as explicit as most.
> 
> comments very appreciated, also, please feel free to make any requests you might have for the last couple days coming up!

It’s not all, or even mostly, about the sex, although the sex is extremely incredible. That’s the thing that other people don’t understand about this kind of relationship. And he doesn’t just mean that they do stuff outside of their roles, although they do—they go on dates, they spend time with friends, they have a home and a whole life that they share. And their life is pretty amazing. It’s the millennial dream, with their cozy one-bedroom apartment (complete with a nook that serves as Enjolras’ study and a loft for Grantaire to paint in), their close circle of friends, and each other. Between Grantaire’s freelancing and Enjolras’ job at the nonprofit, they make enough money to pay their rent and not have to worry too much about Enjolras’ fancy coffee habit or their dinner dates at Grantaire’s favorite little bistros. 

But the roles they’ve chosen are about more than just what they do in bed or in scenes together. It’s what Grantaire always dreamed of, always hoped to find, what he knew he had the day that Enjolras fixed the collar around his neck. It’s what they are to each other: Enjolras is Grantaire’s master, and Grantaire is Enjolras’ slave. They also happen to be in love. Wherever they go, whatever they’re doing, these things are true.

Enjolras knows every one of his limits inside and out. They’re very compatible, really—there’s nothing Grantaire won’t do that Enjolras really wants. If there were, honestly, Grantaire would probably be willing to do it for him. He puts no restrictions on his submission to Enjolras, not set ones, anyway. Someone might wonder how that works, but it’s simple. He trusts that Enjolras would never order him to do anything that wasn’t in his own best interest, that didn’t help him. In turn, Enjolras trusts Grantaire to obey him, meaning he doesn’t have to worry as much as he initially did about every single scene. He knows that Grantaire wants whatever Enjolras chooses to give him. The trust runs deep, and it’s always mutual. 

Which gives them the freedom to do all kinds of incredible things that normally might not be safe. It means that they can be having dinner together, just talking and enjoying themselves, and Enjolras will slap Grantaire across the face and tell him to shut up, make him get down on his knees and put his mouth to better use. Because he knows that Grantaire will drop, not just to the floor but also into his submission, floating and blissful, at one word from him. And Grantaire knows that he’s only doing it because he loves the sweet shock that spreads across Grantaire’s face as he falls into the scene, and that later Enjolras will feed him the rest of his dinner by hand and insist that Grantaire finish telling his story and care for him and about him in a million different ways.

It means that some of the most annoying and boring parts of adult life have turned into an amazing, fulfilling display of their relationship. They usually both do a pretty much equal amount of work around the apartment, but when the chores really pile up, Enjolras will sit in his favorite comfortable chair and order Grantaire around, having him vacuum the rugs and wash the stacks of dishes in the sink and anything else that’s been piling up, and it’s just great. It’s a lot easier to serve Enjolras than it ever was to take care of himself, especially when Enjolras is there, watching him, occasionally growling out a correction in a fierce voice, maybe even issuing a quick punishment. 

It also means that they can count on each other more readily when things in the outside world aren’t going well. Instead of pushing Grantaire away when times get tough, as he might have otherwise, Enjolras doesn’t have to worry about someone intruding on his very personal seventy-five-step process for dealing with stress. He can just have Grantaire give him a massage or a bath or hold him for a long time and make him feel better when he’s ready. Nor can he give in to his urge to spend days by himself, with his work. After all, he has Grantaire to take care of, and he takes that very seriously indeed. He will sometimes spend a day or so in his own head, or hunched over the desk, but he’ll always return to Grantaire before too long. And in the meantime, Grantaire can make sure he has something to eat every couple of hours and takes breaks for sleep and even relaxation. 

For his part, Grantaire has replaced his old coping mechanisms of drinking too much and fucking up his life with talking to Enjolras, sometimes once Enjolras has tied him to something to convince him to be honest about his feelings, an occasional good hard spanking when he’s stuck in his head in a bad way, and tons and tons of gentle, reassuring, loving aftercare (and beforecare, and all the time care) that helps him remember that he’s loved and that it’s worth taking care of himself because Enjolras wants him to. Sometimes, when he’s really down in a depressive spiral, he can’t even get out of bed, but that never seems to matter to Enjolras, who will just climb in with him, hold him close, and remind him again and again that he’s still Enjolras’, that he’s so good, that he’s doing everything right. 

None of these things look like power exchange, really. Outside of scenes, Grantaire doesn’t kneel or call Enjolras Master or ask his permission to speak or anything else, though they’ll sometimes go into high protocol for a period of time just because they both want to. Most of the time, though, it’s unspoken, informal. But it’s the nature of how their relationship works, and it works so well.

It’s not exactly normal, but it’s everything they both need, and that’s all that matters.


	24. day twenty-four: leather

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is so late! i got really stalled out on this chapter because none of the prompts were *speaking* to me and then the week got so busy. i'm hoping to catch up this weekend but no promises

Enjolras is wearing leather pants.

Grantaire’s brain briefly shorts out, like a cell phone that’s been dunked in water, but then he pinches himself and returns to the moment, which he figures he ought to treasure, because, “Don’t you have some kind of ethical objection to the entire leather industry? I thought all our toys were vegan,” he says, before he can stop himself, and then immediately regrets it. Classic Grantaire, casting doubt on what must be one of the greatest miracles to ever occur in all of human history: the beautiful spectacle of Enjolras in the Leather Pants. 

“This is vegan leather,” Enjolras says, and also, “so shut up and enjoy it.”

“Full of ourselves, aren’t we.”

“Am I wrong?” he smirks.

“Of course you’re not wrong. Did I do something special? Did I forget our anniversary or something? Did I forget _my_ birthday?”

“Just wanted to do something nice for you. Do you like it?”

“Feels like you already know the answer to that,” Grantaire says, and then, because Enjolras also deserves the chance to hear how wonderful he is, “This is the hottest you’ve ever looked, at least with your clothes on. And maybe ever. No offense to all of the other extremely hot ways you’ve looked. And there are so many.” Well, it’s not as coherent as the way Enjolras talks about him, but it gets the point across with some effectiveness.

The point is that he looks extremely, extremely good. The key feature of this is, of course, the pants, which are pretty incredible. They’re skin-tight on him, showing every single curve of his shapely legs and, especially, the growing bulge of his cock. He’s paired it with a white button-up shirt that really helps sell the “sexy Regency novel” thing, and black leather (or fake leather, whatever, this is so not the point) gloves.

“Thank you, ‘Aire. I’m glad you like it.”

“All this for me?”

Enjolras shrugs. “I don’t know. I’ve always sort of liked this kind of outfit. And I’m afraid you’ve turned me into something of a hedonist lately, so I thought, well, why not give it a try?”

“Well done me.”

“And now you can reap the benefits.”

“Can I? Please? Can I touch you?”

Enjolras gives him a considering look, like he’s really seriously thinking about it, thinking about whether or not he feels like indulging Grantaire’s whims on this particular occasion. And of course, Grantaire would accept it, maybe even slightly enjoy it, if this turned into a different kind of scene, all provocation and denial and no fulfillment. And then Enjolras says, “All right. Go ahead.”

Enjolras just stands there, looking at Grantaire, and for a moment Grantaire is too shy to move. It’s been a long time since he had to take the lead in any meaningful way, and at first he’s not sure he remembers how. 

Luckily, he manages to figure it out. Instinct is telling him to reach forward and feel exactly how Enjolras’ ass is sitting in those skin-tight pants, and so he does, grabbing him with both hands and pulling him in close. Enjolras smiles at him indulgently as Grantaire leans in for a kiss. 

Fuck, but he loves kissing Enjolras. After everything they’ve done, everything they are to each other, he’d think that the hot, yearning, claiming press of Enjolras’ lips on his, the predatory and desperate way Enjolras’ tongue plunders his mouth, wouldn’t be enough to get him going like this, but it always is. He can’t resist him. He never has been able to, and probably never will. 

Enjolras’ hand tangles fiercely in his hair, pulling at the curls at the nape of his neck, and Grantaire lets out a loud, happy groan. He squeezes Enjolras’ ass, feeling the heat of his skin through the yielding, smooth leather, smelling the rich savory scent of the leather as he moves the fabric under his hands. 

Enjolras pulls him away, holding him still so Enjolras can trail a line of fierce, biting kisses from Grantaire’s shoulder up to his ear. He catches Grantaire’s earlobe between his teeth and then murmurs, right into his ear so that Grantaire shivers, “I think this was worth the expense, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Grantaire says approvingly, running his hands around Enjolras’ sides to feel more of his body, his thighs flexing and tensing beneath the thin case of the leather. 

“I actually have a plan for these, did you know that?”

“No. Although I guess I should have figured. You always have a plan.”

Enjolras laughs, and then bites hard at Grantaire’s ear again, making him gasp. “You are entirely too coherent. And luckily, my plan will change that.”

“It always does.” Grantaire is distinctly easy for Enjolras, and he doesn’t mind it. He always gives Enjolras whatever he wants, because it always ends up being what Grantaire wants as well. “Are you going to tell me about this plan, or is it a surprise?”

“Well, you’ve already had the surprise, so I guess I can tell you the rest of it. I don’t think we’ll do it today, after all. You have a lot to get done today.”

“Nothing that important,” Grantaire adds helpfully, and Enjolras laughs. 

“We’ll see how convincing you can be, I suppose. If you even like my plan.”

“I always like your plans.”

“When I bought these, I was thinking how lovely they feel on me, and maybe how lovely they could feel against your bare skin. And then I thought how that could be even better, like, perhaps if I stripped you bare, and flogged your ass until it was bright red and throbbing and sensitive, and then took my cock out and fucked you so you could feel the leather against your poor aching skin.”

“Yes please?” Grantaire manages, in something very like a squeak. “Can we please do that? Right now? If not sooner?”

Enjolras laughs indulgently again and pulls him in for another kiss.


	25. day twenty five: boot worship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> are you even writing a les mis kink fic if there's no boot worship chapter

Grantaire has finally, finally, _finally_ convinced Enjolras to let him lick his boots. It has basically been the last hurdle of kink for him, and Grantaire could never understand why until earlier this week when Enjolras mentioned a conversation they’d had years ago, before they were even dating, when Enjolras had been scolding Grantaire for some unrelated Amis business and Grantaire had offered to do anything to make it up for him, even clean his boots. And that one statement had apparently been one of the turning points that had made Enjolras question his whole devotion to celibacy, and his entire relationship to his sexuality, and recognize that certain of the fantasies he’d been hiding for years, even from himself, were far more compelling and dangerous than he had ever recognized, and that he couldn’t continue to hide it forever, and that, indeed, he was passionately attracted not just to the idea of Grantaire humiliating himself in Enjolras’ service (although this was a particular source of guilt) but also to Grantaire himself, which was something that had shocked him, and then frightened him, and then, in true Enjolras fashion, inspired him to ask Grantaire out.

It’s good to know that their entire relationship, the single best aspect of Grantaire’s life, is all thanks to an offhand kinky joke Grantaire made once, four years ago. To be fair, that’s 100% on-brand for Grantaire. 

But apparently every time since that Grantaire had brought up Enjolras’ boots and the very appealing possibility of Grantaire cleaning them for him, ideally with his mouth, Enjolras had deferred, because it brought up mountains of feelings that he didn’t quite want to deal with, like the shame that he had mostly forgotten. 

For whatever reason—maybe the leather pants incident, which had helped Enjolras realize the appeal for Grantaire on a purely sensual level, maybe because Enjolras finds it difficult to deny Grantaire anything and he has yet to go a full week without asking for it, maybe because after actually using a hot iron to brand his name on Grantaire’s skin he’s realized this is a weird place to draw the line—Enjolras has agreed to give it a try. 

Grantaire’s long term goal here is to convince Enjolras that Grantaire should worship his boots on, like, a daily basis, but he’s also thinking about the short term, which is to make sure Enjolras has a really great time (and will let him do this again soon, to work towards the aforementioned long term plan). 

So he strips, even though nudity is entirely unnecessary for this particular scene, because (for whatever mysterious reasons of his own) Enjolras likes to look at him naked. Since this is to indulge Grantaire, Enjolras accedes to his request to have his wrists cuffed and then attached to his collar, so his hands hang bound and helpless by his face. Naked and bound and collared, he kneels at Enjolras’ feet. Enjolras stands above him, fully dressed, down to the (brand-new, of course, he hasn’t yet made any progress on convincing Enjolras that he should be allowed to lick his _dirty_ boots) brown ankle-high boots on his feet.

Grantaire lowers himself even further, a difficult feat with the way his hands are bound, and presses his face to the floor, kissing the ground in front of each of Enjolras’ boots. The action makes his head spin, with how it reinforces his abjection, his absolute surrender. “Please, Master,” Grantaire manages, through the thick lump of desire in his throat, “may I worship your boots?” Because Enjolras likes to hear him beg. 

One of Enjolras’ boots slides under his chin, tilting his head up. He looks all the way up to meet Enjolras’ eyes, burning bright. Enjolras doesn’t say anything, doesn’t have to. His expression is perfectly imperious, communicating everything Grantaire needs to hear. Enjolras nods, slightly, and Grantaire sets to his work. 

He begins by repeating the delicate kiss, to the tip of each of Enjolras’ boots. And then he begins in greedy earnest, licking along the top, the sides, the ankles. Every time he bends or straightens his hands pull a bit at his neck, choking him slightly. He can feel the heavy weight of the ground under his knees and he’s contorted painfully to get at every inch of Enjolras’ boots (and of course Enjolras is standing perfectly still and not moving at all, because why would he?) and scraping his whole body and his face against the floor. He can feel Enjolras’ eyes on him, that distant, measured stare. He’s so into this, he has to degrade himself with every movement, and Enjolras is just watching him, clothed and composed and apparently unaffected while Grantaire kisses and licks his boots. 

Grantaire’s plan to make this into the ultimate act of seduction is kind of failing here, because his mind is more blank than he can ever remember it being. Without Enjolras touching him once, without any physical stimulation, he’s at the height of subspace, the sweet flying nothingness he can usually only achieve through serious pain. Well, if this only happens once, it will go down in Grantaire’s personal record as one of the best experiences of his life. Being allowed to serve Enjolras in this way, to debase himself like this, to show how devoted he is to his master, is everything to him. 

His mouth is growing dry from its movements over the faux-leather, and his knees are starting to really hurt, but Grantaire doesn’t care at all. He’d stay here forever, worshipping Enjolras like this, if he could be allowed to. All he wants is this, showing his devotion, his love, in this physical and intimate and complete way. All he wants is to be Enjolras’, beneath him, serving him, showing him that Grantaire belongs to him. 

“Grantaire,” Enjolras gasps, and Grantaire smiles to himself, his face still hidden against the top of Enjolras’ boot. Enjolras might not be so unaffected after all.


	26. day twenty six: roleplaying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a heads up that the scene here is rape roleplay: it's obviously consensual (we're in Grantaire's head and he's enjoying himself thew hole time) but the framing of the scene is that he's being forced. also there is some knifeplay.

Enjolras grabs the hair at the nape of Grantaire’s neck hard and throws him down over their bed. Grantaire struggles against him, enjoying the painful ferocity with which Enjolras’ hands claw at his wrists. 

“Stop fighting, or you’ll be sorry,” Enjolras hisses in his ear. “I was already going to hurt you, but I can make it so much worse.”

“Fuck you,” Grantaire replies. The dialogue part of roleplay has never been his strong point, but that’s not the point. The point is that Enjolras had quietly, almost shyly asked if they could try this scene. A recent orgasm denial episode, with Grantaire begging and pleading with Enjolras to stop touching him so that he wouldn’t come without permission and crying when he could finally take it no more and earned a spectacular beating, had put this idea in his head. Enjolras rarely feels the need to ask for anything, and although Grantaire’s favorite scenes don’t involve assuming roles other than the ones they’ve chosen for their relationship, Grantaire is happy to indulge him. 

Really happy, actually, since Enjolras seems to feel freer to manhandle him than he usually does. He wrenches Grantaire’s hands roughly behind his back, and kneels over him, pinning Grantaire down with a knee over his shoulder blades. He takes Grantaire’s belt off him, ignoring his attempt to buck free, and binds his hands efficiently, just a little too tight. 

Then he pulls a knife from his pocket. It’s a simple silver switchblade, and, fully extended, only an inch or two long. It’s enough. “Be good and hold still,” he says, “and you won’t get hurt. Fight, and I’ll cut you.”

Every muscle in Grantaire’s body goes still with delightfully genuine terror. He holds himself rigid and unmoving as Enjolras cuts the clothes off his body. His shirt falls to pieces, no more than rags now, and Enjolras picks up a piece of it, balling it up. He grabs Grantaire’s hair again and turns his head to the side, tapping the fabric against Grantaire’s squeezed-shut lips. 

“Open.”

Grantaire shakes his head, refusing. Enjolras presses the blade into the nearest swathe of his skin, his now-exposed back.

“Don’t make me cut you.”

He keeps his mouth squeezed shut, and Enjolras sighs, deepening the pressure on the knife until Grantaire feels his skin open, feels himself start to bleed. He opens his mouth to scream and Enjolras shoves the fabric into his mouth and tapes it there. Then he cuts Grantaire’s jeans off of him and tapes his bare legs to the bed, leaving him bent over, naked, and exposed.

“No underwear,” Enjolras notes with satisfaction, dragging the blunt edge of the knife over the bare, trembling skin of Grantaire’s ass. “I knew you were a slut just looking at you.”

Grantaire lets out a strangled whimper of fear and arousal, but the sound is lost in the makeshift gag. 

“Do you know what I’m going to do to you now?” Enjolras asks.

Grantaire nods, slightly.

“You think I’m going to fuck you, is that right?”

He nods again.

Enjolras laughs, cold and cruel, and flips the knife over so the point digs into Grantaire’s skin. Grantaire howls, smothered by the gag. “If only you were getting off that easy. No, first I’m going to have to beat you. You were so bad earlier, trying to get away from me. I’m going to thrash you until you’re exhausted from the pain, slumped and helpless, and _then_ I’m going to fuck you. And what are you going to do about it?”

Nothing, Grantaire thinks, unable to speak the word around the gag in his mouth. After all, he’s tied down, his hands useless behind his back, his mouth taken away from him. He’s at Enjolras’ mercy, and right now, there seems to be none to be had.

Enjolras doesn’t beat him in the usual, methodical way. He just takes off his belt and begins whipping Grantaire with it. There’s no warm-up, no counting of the strokes, no words of praise or endearment or even humiliation. It’s just sharp, stinging pain. Enjolras starts against his calves and thighs, not paying any particular attention to where the strokes land or how Grantaire reacts to them, bucking uselessly in his bonds, screaming silently into his gag. And, okay, Grantaire is starting to get the appeal of this kind of scene, because the fantasy lets them both pretend that Enjolras doesn’t treasure and adore him, doesn’t take the utmost care with his safety and pleasure at all times. It lets him imagine that Enjolras is truly hurting him only because he wants it, with no regard for Grantaire whatsoever.

Fuck, but it hurts. The belt is landing hard against his back now, over his shoulders that are forced so tightly back and he can feel himself starting to cry, big helpless tears. It’s hard to breathe now, the gag preventing him from breathing through his mouth, his whole face stuffy and burning with shame and pain. He’s still bent over the bed, his ass on display for Enjolras to hurt. 

He can’t beg for mercy, can’t do anything. (Of course, he could snap his fingers in their safe gesture and be let free at once, but that’s not an appealing part of the fantasy). He stops fighting against his bonds, stops doing anything except taking the pain. He twitches a little at the impact of each blow, but nothing more, and flinches when he hears the sound of the belt falling to the floor.

There’s a cold wet feeling against his ass, presumably lube being dripped from above, and then, with no more words and no more warning, Enjolras is fucking him. The breach of his body with so little prep hurts enough to leave him sobbing even harder, but all he can do is cry. The fight has been beaten out of him, and he gives in to Enjolras’ will, lying helpless beneath him as Enjolras uses him mercilessly.


	27. day twenty-seven: degradation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for serious humiliation, yay
> 
> i gotta write like crazy to finish before nano starts. why did i do this to myself

Grantaire is kneeling on the ground, naked except for his collar, hands behind his back, watching. Enjolras sits on the couch, his legs carelessly spread, his sweatpants shoved down so that his cock can be free, and he’s lazily, almost casually, stroking himself. His movements are slow and steady, and it’s almost hypnotic. Grantaire would be lulled into a peaceful trance, if he weren’t so acutely conscious of the exact reason why he’s in this position.

He’s here to be degraded.

Humiliation, and the whole suite of related kinks, drive him wild like nothing else. Pain might lift him into subspace, but being called names, being shamed, being scorned sends hot arousal through his whole body, gets him hard and gets him off in a way nothing else can. He’d never been able to really explore it before Enjolras, but luckily he never has to worry that Enjolras’ words, no matter how cruel, Enjolras’ disdain, no matter how delightful, is meant for anything other than their mutual pleasure. Now he can take this as far as he wants to and know that Enjolras will put him back together at the end.

So he’s kneeling at Enjolras’ feet, untouched and ignored, watching as Enjolras chooses not to touch him. His own erection bobs between his spread legs, touching his stomach, and he’s terribly conscious of it, of his own fierce wanting to be treated like this. He knows that Enjolras is too, as with a casual sweep of his eyes he takes in Grantaire’s entire abject position. 

“Do you want something?” Enjolras says, with a flick of his wrist. He’s not looking at Grantaire naked at his feet. Why would he be? 

“Please,” Grantaire manages. His throat feels heavy, the way it always does when he’s this painfully turned on. It’s hard to form words. He’s headed to a place of submission far beyond speech, but Enjolras won’t let him relax into it, forcing him instead into a delicious hyper-awareness of exactly where he is and what he’s doing.

“Go ahead and beg for what you want, or stop wasting my time.”

The harsh words land like a punch of arousal to Grantaire’s arousal, and he swallows hard, feeling his hard cock pulse, untouched. “Sorry, Master. Please, let me touch you. Please.”

“Why should I?”

“I could…” The words seem pathetic even in his own mind, but that’s no reason not to give Enjolras what he wants. A little shame is nothing to him, not when it could please Enjolras. “I could suck your cock, please, Master? Please let me serve you.” It’s physically hard to make himself say it but once he does the words turn him on even more. 

“Why would I do that?”

This is one of Enjolras’ favorite tricks, making Grantaire degrade himself. And it always, always works, leaving Grantaire twitchy and desperately turned on and shaking with need. But first, his mind has to go totally empty. He can’t figure out what to say, but he can also see Enjolras’ increasing impatience. And he doesn’t want to leave him waiting. “I need it, please—“

“I don’t care what you want.”

Oh. But he presses on, trying to ignore the arousal that courses through him at those delightfully cruel words. He tries a different tactic altogether now. “Please let me suck your cock, Master, please. I’ll do it just how you like, I’ll make myself choke, I’ll make you feel good, please.” The words are turning into nonsense as they spill out of his mouth but he can’t stop himself, can’t think clearly. 

“God, listen to you,” Enjolras says, his voice a little deeper, his hand moving a little faster. Otherwise there’s no sign that Grantaire is having any effect on him. “Naked and on your knees, begging to be allowed to touch me, begging me to use you. Is that what you want?”

“Yes, please.” He can almost feel it, the phantom sensation of Enjolras’ hand tangling in his hair, pulling him down, forcing him to gag. He wants it with a desperate force, just to be allowed to bring Enjolras some pleasure, to show him how good he can be. 

Enjolras deigns to glance over at him, his handsome full lips curving into an expression very like a sneer. “And why,” he says, “would I want your filthy mouth on me?”

Grantaire’s mouth falls open, and he lets out a desperate, whining gasp. 

“Just listen to you. Whimpering like an animal. You like this, don’t you?”

At the words, he just barely prevents himself from actually humping into the air. 

“Of course you do. You like anything I’ll give you, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Grantaire manages, knowing some response is probably expected of him. “Yes, Master. Please.”

“More begging. It hardly takes anything to leave you pleading so desperately. Do you think you deserve to suck my cock?”

Enjolras’ perfect hand, his long elegant fingers, glide up and down his beautiful erection. He looks like the statue Grantaire used to call him, lovely and untouchable and unmovable. Grantaire gazes up at him in perfect, trembling adoration. “No, Master.”

“No. That’s right, you don’t. You’re not even good enough to be a fucktoy, isn’t that right?”

“No, I’m not.”

“No, you’re not. You’re worth nothing unless I decide you are.”

“Yes, Master,” Grantaire says, pliantly accepting. He’ll be whatever Enjolras says he is, his slave, his fucktoy, or nothing at all if that’s what pleases him. And, too far gone to feel shame at it, he tells Enjolras so.

“ _Fuck,_ ” Enjolras says, in response, his voice breaking and not at all aloof for one brilliant moment, and suddenly he’s coming, right onto Grantaire’s face, come landing across Grantaire’s face in hot splashes. Grantaire smiles to himself, and a little of it drips into his mouth. “Maybe I’ll let you wear that for a while. Make sure you don’t forget what you’re for. What do you say?”

“Thank you, Master,” Grantaire answers at once, debased and content.


	28. day twenty-eight: humiliation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what's the difference between humiliation and degradation  
> i'm still not sure but i wrote two scenes anyway

This time, when the scene starts, Enjolras is making love to him, quite tenderly and sweetly. He has Grantaire’s hands held up above his head, but that’s perfectly vanilla for the two of them. Grantaire’s legs are around his waist and Enjolras is thrusting into him at a careful pace. He scrapes his teeth along Grantaire’s thrown-back neck, and teases them at Grantaire’s earlobe, and then murmurs into his ear, “You really are a slut.”

Grantaire lets out a keening moan and barely manages to restrain himself from coming. He wouldn’t, not without Enjolras’ permission, but it’s actually quite difficult given the way Enjolras is rocking into him and the wave of heat that stirs into him at Enjolras’ words. It’s one of the most wonderful things about their power exchange, that Enjolras knows he has Grantaire’s consent to do this to him at any times, to go from apparent equals to degrading and using Grantaire whenever he pleases, because Grantaire is his. These thoughts are not helping Grantaire get control of himself, not that he expects to be able to. 

“Is that all it takes for you?” Enjolras’ tone is harsh and sharp, and it’s so good. Grantaire could bruise himself against that firmness, that unshakeable strength, or he could be protected from everything in the world by it. He _is._

Grantaire whimpers and nods.

“No,” Enjolras says, fiercely now, entirely in control, and stops moving. He keeps Grantaire pinned beneath him, looking at him, his cock still inside Grantaire but all stimulation suddenly gone, and Grantaire aches at the loss. “Answer me.”

Grantaire bucks up against him, but gets nowhere. “Yes, Master,” he tries, but it’s hard to speak at all. All he wants is to go back to being fucked, to being Enjolras’. 

“Clearly, that’s not good enough. Answer me properly, or I’ll stop and find something better to fuck.” He still has that delightfully cold and reserved tone in his voice, like he isn’t pinning Grantaire down with his cock all the way in Grantaire’s ass, like he doesn’t care at all. Of course, Grantaire knows how much he does, which is what makes it so wonderful. 

“That’s all it takes for me, Master. Is you telling me what a… what a slut I am.”

That seems to please Enjolras, at least enough to make him thrust ever so slowly back into Grantaire. Grantaire imagines he can feel every centimeter of Enjolras’ cock breaching him, every bit of his own body yielding to let him in. He sighs, content, and Enjolras smirks at him. “That’s all you want, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Master.”

And again, Enjolras freezes, this time halfway into Grantaire. Grantaire squeezes around him, but he doesn’t react. “Come on. Even a stupid fucktoy like you can do better than that.”

“All I want is your cock, Master, please.”

“Not very convincing. Are you really trying to hide how desperate, how dirty you are? You know that I know exactly what you are.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” he says, one high breath.

“So _tell me,_ ‘Aire,” and Enjolras using his name makes it better, more real, and suddenly he finds the ability to speak if only because he knows it’s the only way to make the game go on. 

“It’s all I’m for, it’s all I’m worth, I’m just your fucktoy, just like you said, just a desperate slut for you, Master, please,” he says, a stream of desperate nonsense but it makes Enjolras start fucking him again and that’s so wonderful, and then Enjolras spits on him, right in his face.

Enjolras’ spit runs down his cheek, cold and wet and so shameful, and he wants more of it, wants to wear this evidence of Enjolras’ delightful scorn forever. Enjolras pulls out and lets go of his wrists, looking down at Grantaire’s prone body, his eyes lingering over Grantaire’s rock-hard erection. “I can see that. You really are enjoying yourself, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Master.” And, because it seems like his editorial commentary is required, “I always do, whatever you do to me. I love it whenever you fuck me, when you use me however you want. It’s my favorite thing in the world. It’s all I ever want. Please, please, don’t stop.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’m going to get myself off in your hole.” 

Grantaire loves when he can make Enjolras, all proper and refined, say filth like that. “Yes, please—“

“Roll over. On your knees, face down.”

Grantaire obeys the command, shifting into the new, much different position. His face is pressed to the bedsheet, his ass exposed and up in the air, his hands useless beside him. Enjolras grabs his wrists and pins them at the small of his back, and Grantaire feels wonderfully small and entirely under Enjolras’ control.

“ _Now_ I’m going to fuck you,” Enjolras says, and Grantaire wonders what they’d been doing before but manages to tamp down on the impulse to actually say it, since then Enjolras might not fuck him and that would be a true tragedy, and then he isn’t thinking about anything at all because Enjolras is thrusting into him hard. “Stay still, and stay quiet. Do you understand?”

Grantaire doesn’t nod or say anything, and Enjolras laughs a little, bending down to bite his ear. 

“Good slut.”

Enjolras is fucking him in earnest now, his thrusts vicious, hard enough to hurt. 

“This is where you belong, after all. Ass up, face down, restrained and naked. This is the only thing you’re any fucking good for. You’re nothing more than a fucktoy for me to use however I please, whenever I please. You let yourself be collared and branded just to show that’s what you are, my very own property. This is all you are.”

Grantaire isn’t allowed to moan or move so he doesn’t, just holds himself still, determined to be a good hole for Enjolras. 

“You’re so desperate just from this, from me showing you what you are. My slave.”


	29. day twenty-nine: glory hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) does this even count as what this prompt is supposed to be   
> 2) this is not a real thing that exists  
> 3) um, objectification cw?

This may be the most elaborate piece of sex equipment they own, and that’s really saying something. But this basically required installation. It’s not just a sex toy, it’s sex furniture. It’s practically a sex room. 

Basically, it’s a box. It’s tall enough for Grantaire to kneel upright inside, but not wide enough for him to budge even a little bit once he’s done so. There are all sorts of complicated straps and attachment points _inside_ the box. It had to be custom made based on about 200 different measurements. Grantaire is afraid to ask what it had cost.

Enjolras eases him in with sturdy, certain hands, and Grantaire goes pliantly into place. The first strap goes around his waist, holding him taut against the front wall of the box. Then his limbs are strapped down—his legs first, around his thighs, his calves, and the arches of his feet, so that his legs are spread apart and he has no choice but to stay in the strain of the kneel. Next his wrists are cuffed up by either side of his head, with straps around his biceps, his forearms, and even around his hands to ensure that he can’t so much as twitch. Enjolras here takes a moment to carefully press a small, circular object into Grantaire’s hand. 

“Panic button. Just press down to safeword. Test it for me?”

Grantaire does as he’s told, and hears the sound of an alarm chiming from outside the box.

“Perfect.” Enjolras kisses his hair, gently, and then finishes binding him in place. Two long ties criss-cross over his chest, creating a harness that binds him to the front of the box. Another anchors his hips in place.

Then it’s time to prep him. Enjolras guides his mouth open, eases a spider gag in, and then cranks it until Grantaire’s jaw is painfully spread. Then he presses Grantaire’s head forward and attaches the straps around the back of his neck and his head. Next, he drips some lube into the cleft of Grantaire’s ass, sliding it up into him with two careful, casual fingers. He opens Grantaire up, carefully avoiding his prostate or anything else that might make it too fun. It’s not about him. When he’s ready—but not too ready—Enjolras kisses the top of his head again. 

“I’m going to close you up now,” he says.

Grantaire is already bound down and facing the dark wall of the box, so he doesn’t expect much of a difference. And then Enjolras drops the back wall into place. 

He’s completely immobilized and entirely blind. He feels nothing except the straps around him, sees nothing at all, has no stimulation. 

His immediate response is panic, actually, and only the reminder of the smooth weight in his hand stops him. He knows he can get out of this in a second if he needs to, trusts that Enjolras is just on the other side of this thick barrier of wood, ready to comfort him. 

When the initial fear has passed, he starts to become very conscious of his position in a way that sends a delightful and very different thrill through him. He’s helpless here. The only parts of him exposed, through carefully placed holes in the wood, are his ass and his forced-open mouth. Everything else is hidden, unimportant. He’s transformed into a toy, just a couple of warm, wet, open holes that Enjolras can use or not, as he pleases. 

Enjolras makes him wait, of course, and why shouldn’t he? Like this, Grantaire is less even than his slave, turned into an object for him to use. Grantaire isn’t sure how long it is, and he isn’t really trying to keep track of time. It would be pointless, like this, in the dark, motionless and spread open. He has nothing to worry about, because he has no control and no choices to make. He feels his body relax into the bonds. Distantly, he’s conscious of how uncomfortable it is to be held in this position, unable to shift at all to relieve the pressure on his knees, of how badly his jaw is starting to ache, but none of that matters now. He can hear his own steady, even breath as he waits, and nothing else. Maybe next time he’ll ask Enjolras to plug his ears, too, so he doesn’t even have that. 

His mouth is growing dry and his head is spinning by the time Enjolras starts to use him. Enjolras chooses his mouth, which makes sense—it must be at a more comfortable height, and he won’t have to kneel down or anything. Just take his cock out and push it in to the open, waiting hole that is all Grantaire is. Grantaire is even more focused on pleasing Enjolras than usual because right now, bound like this, Enjolras’ cock is the only thing in his world. He’s hyper aware of the salty, musky taste of Enjolras’ skin, of the slight, uncomfortable pressure as Enjolras forces his way into his throat, of the rhythm of thrusting and sucking and breathing. There’s little he can do, with the gag in—he can suck, a little, and try to use his tongue, but his mouth is spread so wide that his normal repertoire is limited. Mostly what he can do is be there while Enjolras fucks his throat, using Grantaire like the object he is for him.

Grantaire wants it to go on forever, but it doesn’t, of course. Enjolras fucks his mouth for as long as he wants and then comes, hot salty bursts down his throat. Grantaire gags on it, struggling to swallow with his mouth held open, but after a moment he manages and takes a long breath of clear air.

Then everything is silence and stillness once again and, peacefully, he rests, drifting in the wonderful consciousness of his own vulnerability, his own objectification. He breathes steadily and waits for Enjolras to want to use him again.


	30. day thirty: gagging

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're almost there! tomorrow is the last day
> 
> cw for breathplay in this chapter

Choking on Enjolras’ cock always feels like coming full circle.

Grantaire never forgets (okay, sometimes forgets, because sometimes Enjolras fucks him so hard he can’t remember little tiny details like the history of their relationship, whatever, that’s not the rhetorical point he’s trying to make right now, this is a rhetorical point about how much he appreciates Enjolras, which he does) that this is how it all started for them. A simple, vanilla-ish blowjob between two recent lovers, still trying to figure out each other’s bodies and how they could fit together for pleasure and as parts of each other’s lives. It turned into something a little more, as things between the two of them always seem to (though he didn’t know that then). They got carried away. They fit together too well. For the first of so many times. And they’re doing it again, right now, in much the same way. 

That’s what Grantaire thinks about, when Enjolras is forcing his cock into Grantaire’s throat and Grantaire’s body is choking and gagging and resisting it even as his mind relaxes into blissful acceptance of Enjolras’ will as symbolized by his dick cutting off Grantaire’s breathing and making him gag. It’s romantic, in a way. Or maybe not, but it still works for him. 

“There’s a good pet,” Enjolras murmurs from somewhere above him, his long, cool fingers wiping away the tears that pool in the corner of Grantaire’s eyes. Grantaire has always loved his hands, loved all the different things they can do. They can be so tender or so cruel, and they always know exactly how to make him feel exactly how Enjolras wants him to feel, playing him like an instrument. So often during a scene they’ll be the one tender gesture, like now, petting away his tears. Of course, Enjolras’ hands can hurt him, too, and have on so many wonderful occasions.

Now his hands are back in Grantaire’s hair, where he loves to pull, forcing more tears to spill from his eyes. He holds Grantaire steady, immobile, as he slides his cock inexorably down Grantaire’s throat and then freezes, buried in Grantaire’s mouth to the root. Grantaire hears the helpless sounds he’s making, his own pathetic gagging and gasping around the obstruction in his throat. No matter how many times Enjolras has done this to him, he can never maintain his dignity through it. Which he supposes is part of the point. The humiliation, the helplessness. A few of his favorite things. He always tries to keep some control, to participate, to suck a bit here and use his tongue like that, and Enjolras always fucks that out of him, reminds him that he’s here to take what Enjolras chooses to give him and no more. Enjolras is always in control, and he’s just here to take what he’s given.

Enjolras isn’t moving now, just buried all the way inside Grantaire’s mouth. Grantaire can’t get any air in, his nose flat against the fine golden hair on Enjolras’ pelvis, his mouth stuffed full of Enjolras’ hard cock. All he can smell and taste and see is Enjolras, his body an overwhelming presence. Grantaire is starting to get a little bit dizzy, and then suddenly, with an urge that surprises him, the need for air overtakes the rationale knowledge that he won’t be able to get any and he starts to gasp, trying desperately to suck in some oxygen. It only makes him choke harder, each failed attempt at breath sucking Enjolras’ cock hard against the back of his throat so that he gags again and again, and he can’t breathe at all.

“Shh,” Enjolras says, stroking Grantaire’s hair affectionately, like an animal’s. Grantaire relaxes into the touch, as pliant as any pet under its owner’s hand, even when the gentle touch turns back into a firm grip, and Enjolras is once again holding him still and fucking his face. He gags again, and Enjolras lets out a soft little moan. “Do you know how good it feels when you do that?”

He hadn’t, actually. He’d always sort of thought the appeal was in his gasping, desperate humiliation. He’s still dizzy from Enjolras choking him with his cock, and though he can now get in a little bit of air, it’s not nearly enough to make up for the lack of it earlier. His lungs have already started to burn when Enjolras pushes his head all the way down again and holds him there with a viciously tight hold on his hair. 

Grantaire gags and sputters, his eyes filling with tears again. Enjolras is merciless, keeping him pinned in place as if heedless of his suffering. “I can feel your throat moving, feel your mouth all around me as you try so desperately to breathe. It’s like I can feel the struggle inside you, between your desire to give in to me and your body’s need to protect itself, to breathe, to not be hurt and used like this. And I always know which one will win, don’t I?”

Of course. Enjolras, always Enjolras. Just when stars are starting to swim in the corners of Grantaire’s closed eyes and he’s almost sure he might pass out, Enjolras lets go, letting Grantaire pull away and suck in a furious breath. Just one, and then his hands are over Grantaire’s nose, pinching it shut, forcing him to open his mouth to breathe, even though he knows what will happen, and then Enjolras is fucking his mouth again. This time it’s short, shallow little thrusts that make him too conscious of how his mouth is being filled, of the air that he can’t get. Slowly, relentlessly, Enjolras forces his way into Grantaire’s throat. He stops just as Grantaire gags, drawing out the reaction. 

“I love you so goddamn much,” Enjolras says, as Grantaire burns for air and gags for relief and gets none, gets nothing but the overwhelming power of Enjolras above and inside and all around him. 


	31. day thirty one: aftercare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the last day is an open challenge, so i decided to create my own prompt. Thanks to everyone who's been on this weird kinky journey with me!

Enjolras’ voice sounds like it’s coming from hundreds of miles away, distant and strange. Grantaire can’t understand what he’s saying, but it’s okay. If it’s important, Enjolras will find a way to make him understand. He’ll never let him fail, never let him fall. 

“Sweetheart,” Enjolras repeats. Oh, that’s what he’s saying. That’s so nice. He’s always so nice to Grantaire, no matter what. “Are you with me?”

“Yes, Master,” Grantaire tries, because he wants so badly to be good, wants it more than anything else in the world, but it’s so hard to make his mouth move. He’s exhausted and everything feels heavy and clumsy.

“There’s my good pet. Here, open your eyes now.” 

Enjolras must have taken the blindfold off him at some point, because when Grantaire obediently blinks his eyes open he sees not darkness but Enjolras, Enjolras’ beautiful face, Enjolras’ perfect blue eyes gazing at him with warmth and concern. Grantaire loves him so much. He’s the most gorgeous thing in the entire world, like a statue carved by the hand of a master but so real, so alive, and somehow, miraculously, Grantaire’s.

“There you are. You’re so lovely, ‘Aire. How are you feeling?”

Grantaire blinks at him, unsure how to answer that question. He’s never been happier but he’s also exhausted and everything hurts. He wills Enjolras to just understand, which seems, somehow to work.

“I know, my love. I’m going to get you back with me, but there’s no rush at all.The first thing is, I want to clean you up a little. Stay right there, on your knees like that, and count to ten in your head for me, and I’ll be back.”

Counting is a struggle, but he’d do anything for Enjolras, so he manages, and before he gets to eight there’s a warm, soft cloth tracing over his face, wiping away the (he realizes with embarrassment) significant amount of drool and snot his tears had left over his face. Enjolras wipes him off with tender care, focusing on the pool of sweat under his arms, the welts along his back (here he’s delicate, careful not to hurt), the lube and come smeared along his ass. Once Grantaire is moderately less disgusting, Enjolras kneels down facing him again.

“Nod if you want me to get you in the bath right away.”

A bath sounds good but also hard. He doesn’t do anything. Enjolras can decide. Enjolras always makes good decisions.

“Good boy. I figured you’d want to get up on the couch and cuddle right away.”

Entirely fucking amazing. Grantaire isn’t sure how he got so lucky. “Please,” he rasps, ready to beg, but Enjolras hushes him.

“I’ve got you. You’ve been so good for me, it’s my turn to take care of you now. Come here.”

But Grantaire doesn’t really have to move at all. Enjolras wraps his strong arms under Grantaire’s and hoists him up, helping him onto the couch. Grantaire ends up sprawled inelegantly over Enjolras’ lap, facing him, his arms around Enjolras’ neck and Enjolras’ around his waist. With a little urging from Enjolras, he lets his head drop onto Enjolras’ shoulder, and immediately finds Enjolras pressing kisses into his sweaty hair. Mm, that’s so nice. He’s not sure how long they stay like that, Grantaire pleasantly floating, anchored comfortably by Enjolras’ arms.

“Will you drink some water for me, ‘Aire?”

Anything for him. “Yes, Master.”

“You’re so good. Hang tight.” Enjolras shifts a little bit underneath him and leans forward, coming back with a bottle of lemonade, opened, straw inserted. He holds the straw to Grantaire’s lips. “Take a sip for me, my darling. Perfect.”

Grantaire drinks the whole bottle like that, slow sips interspersed with Enjolras praising him and stroking his hair and kissing his forehead. When it’s finished, he feels a little less dizzy, but still sort of lost, and a tiny bit shaky. He’s not sure what to say—he thinks he ought to tell Enjolras, but he’s almost afraid to speak. 

“Hey, hey. ‘Aire, look at me.”

He does what he’s told.

“Crashing down a little?”

Grantaire makes himself nod.

“That’s okay. It’s bound to happen. Come here, pet. I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”

Grantaire hesitates for a moment, but then lets himself launch into Enjolras’ arms, burying his head in Enjolras’ shoulder and letting Enjolras hold him tight. Enjolras strokes his fingers gently through Grantaire’s hair, sending a shiver up his spine. 

“I know. You’re just coming back up, and you were really far down this time. I love taking you there, love breaking you down, but it’s a hard trip back, I know. I’m so lucky that you’re willing to go there for me. I still can’t believe it, even after all we’ve done together. I can’t believe that you trust me to do these things to you, that you let me be the one to break you apart and put you back together again.”

Who else? Grantaire belongs to him entirely. 

Enjolras just keeps murmuring steady, comforting words into his ear. “You look so beautiful when you submit for me. You go to such incredible depths. I love watching you there and knowing it’s all for me. But I think this is my favorite part.”

Grantaire hums and snuggles a little closer to him, pressing his chest against Enjolras’. He can feel his heart beating, a reassuringly steady rhythm.

“Just taking care of you, knowing that you trust me to bring you back up. Getting the chance to be here for you and hold you and tell you that I love you more than anything.”

“Love you too,” Grantaire tries, through his heavy mouth. He knows that Enjolras understands.

Later, Enjolras will make him a snack, give him a shower, and put him to bed. Tomorrow there will be more chances for him to fall ever deeper in submission and love. For now, he is content to be here, held, and entirely safe in his master’s arms. 


End file.
